A while back, I wrote “Living with a Meeting Planner.” At that time, I didn’t realize it was going to be part one of two, but here we are.

I think I should have realized what was going on in my meeting planner spouse’s mind when chairs and tables of various kinds began to show up around the house. There’s only two of us and the last time I counted there were 28 chairs in the house. Hmmm. Maybe if they had been Chiavari chairs or 60-inch rounds I would have known something was up. Actually, I’m surprised I know what Chiavari chairs are—or even how to spell the name (thank you spell check)—and that one of the standard sizes for a round table is 60 inches.

It all began with me setting up the outdoor, screened-in canopy tent thing that we have in the backyard. It’s a fairly good size with instructions that claim it can be set up in 30 minutes (yeah right—try two days and a six pack).

Then she mentioned something about lights. Lights on the inside of the tent, and then lights “happily” strung from the tent thing to a tree and back creating a canopy of lights. Then she mentioned something about an outdoor concert. I was ready to call the folks that have portable generators before she stopped. She is building (or rather instructed me—she’s management, I’m labor) her own event space.  

And finally, she said, “You have no idea what I want to do with this space.” Those are scary words as I only thought I was putting up the canopy tent. I then went to the basement and brought up the box of those small glasses that hold the little candles left over from prior events, as requested. Must be a couple of hundred of them in that box.

The plot thickens. Driving with her one day, she decided to let me into her thought process—normally when her thought is completed but she seems to start in the middle of it when conversing with me. Out of the blue, she asks, “What do you think a projector costs?” I tried to play it cool and said, ‘Projector???” She responded, “Yeah, like the ones used to show movies on the side of a house.” Then, “At least I won’t have to buy a license to show a movie as we’re not charging admission,” something only a meeting planner would say. So, by now I’m beginning to wonder if we need to offer valet parking, maybe? Should we charge for the Wi-Fi, or is that a negotiable item? How about a resort fee?

MEWS

That’s when it got serious and I noticed in her what I’m am now calling “MEWS.” This is a condition resulting from the coronavirus-driven shutdown and stands for Meeting and Events Withdrawal Syndrome. MEWS only directly affects meeting planners, but there are serious side effects to their spouse/significant other, BF/GF—actually, anyone six feet of them is susceptible to being inducted into planning an event.

More symptoms of MEWS? She misses taking pictures of centerpieces, food displays and doing a back-of-house tour. More? She misses flying around the country and staying in different hotels, seeing different meeting venues.

Bad side effects of MEWS? She commiserates with many of her fellow planners who have been furloughed or laid off. She follows the hotel re-openings and the airline policies and just shakes her head in a sad fashion as she sees the surges from too-early re-openings. She gets furious with people who ignore the masks and go to bars without concern for others. All serve to delay even more the return of meetings and events.

Good impact of MEWS? I get more time with her, No. 1. I carry less luggage from hotel to hotel. I get to sleep in my bed at night and use my own shampoo. For her? A chance to slow down just a bit, which is still 100 miles per hour. A time to write and read. A time to become very familiar with Zoom, including buying special lights for Zoom and now she’s talking about converting a spare bedroom into a studio, with different backdrops.

So, I shall continue living with a meeting planner. All in all, it’s pretty much fun—most of the time, anyway.