Bulletin board: (n) a board for displaying notices.
I’m a little timid to make this confession–partly because it expresses a weakness that I’m not sure other people share, and also there’s always a danger that when you’re vulnerable, someone will come along and feel it’s their responsibility to “teach you something.”
But taking that risk, I will tell you that bulletin boards scare me.
Not in the sense of being terrified, but rather, a bewildering, perplexing aggravation that comes over my soul whenever I stand, facing one, and see literally hundreds of messages piled on top of each other, vying for my attention. They begin to swirl together, forming some sort of mysterious stew in mid-stir.
I try to focus on one bicycle for sale, or announcement for an upcoming meeting of the Progressive Optimists of America, but my eyes are distracted and suddenly, my mind begins to believe that all optimistic people own bicycles–and have lost a daughter. And a dog. And a red umbrella.
Immediately aware that none of it makes sense, I’m bewitched by the messaging that keeps leaping from this bulletin board into my eyes to gain attention.
Does someone in a little country church really think I am going to come to their revival just because a tiny portion of their flier peeps through underneath the announcement of a new yoga class?
I’m sorry. Bulletin boards are spawned from some dark consciousness, where obsession and oblivion merge together in printed form to attack me and make me believe that I’m stupid because I’m not voting for the candidate whose poster has been most recently pinned over the top of all other competitors.
Bulletin boards are the most inefficient way to convey any message.
I’m wondering if someone in Congress came up with the idea.