Big Convention
The convention is a tribal ritual of the postmodern industrial society. Especially multinational companies with zillions of employees seem to think this ceremony is absolutely indispensable to promote culture and combat spirit. All the big and lesser big chiefs as well as warriors and field workers of merit arrive from even the most remote places.
For weeks they have been preparing, everybody in his own way. Memos and meetings have been the weapons with which the delegates fought for their participation. At last, finally, the big day: planes are being chartered, the tam-tam booms, they flood to the airport, in festive garment, faces carefully painted, with big buttons on their chests: "We do our best" or some other stupid slogan. It is like courting; stalking and nodding, backslapping and laughs, drinks and business cards. They assure themselves mutually of their importance, tinker on old front lines and new coalitions, palaver passionately, figth tactical trench combats, participate in public executions, pay homage to the Big Chief and smile until their jaws creak.
And there's a dance tonight.
A big convention can easily take up several thousand hotel rooms and rented cars. They occupy all the conference centers they can find and make gastronomy buzz with business. Honolulu feeds on conventions, above all in the low season. More than 35,000 hotel rooms are to be filled, night after night.
And when the official part is over, everybody adds his private weekend, on the next island, where nobody will find you - on Maui. And that's why we can't find a car. And no hotel room. We should have booked in advance.
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