Minutes from the Town Hall Meeting

The town hall meeting began at 7:00 p.m. exactly, which was notable only because the clock mounted above the podium had been wrong for several years and nobody had been permitted to mention it.

The board members entered together, smiling in the way people smile when they know something you don’t and are proud of themselves for it. They took their seats behind the long wooden table, arranged their papers, adjusted their microphones, and waited for the room to settle.

It did not take long. The room had learned.

The chairperson cleared his throat and tapped the microphone twice, even though it was already on.

“Good evening,” he said. “I’d like to welcome everyone to tonight’s town hall meeting. Before we begin, I’d like to remind the public of a new procedural update.”

This was unnecessary. Everyone already knew.

“As of last week,” he continued, “any individual wishing to express an opinion on town matters must possess a valid Opinion Permit.”

He paused, smiling.

“This includes spoken opinions, implied opinions, rhetorical questions, tone-based objections, and what legal counsel has described as ‘aggressive sighing.’”

There was a rustling in the audience as people shifted in their seats, careful not to shift too expressively.

The chairperson nodded, satisfied.

“Please note,” he added, “that attending the meeting without a permit is still allowed. Thinking is still allowed. However, expressing those thoughts outwardly is not.”

He gestured to the security officer standing near the exit. The officer nodded politely.

“Now,” the chairperson said, “does anyone have any questions?”

A hand went up in the third row.

The room collectively inhaled.

The chairperson glanced down at his papers, then back up.

“Sir,” he said calmly, “do you have a permit?”

The man froze. His hand hovered in the air, unsure what to do with itself.

“I—” he began.

The security officer took a step forward.

“I’m sorry,” the chairperson said gently. “Attempted opinion.”

The officer escorted the man toward the door. The man did not resist. He kept apologizing, though he was careful not to phrase it in a way that could be construed as commentary.

The door closed softly behind him.

The chairperson made a note.

“Anyone else?”

No hands went up.

“Excellent,” he said. “Moving on.”

⸻

The first agenda item concerned the town’s water supply. The board discussed it at length, using charts and graphs that were visible only to them.

Occasionally, a board member would ask the room if there were any concerns. Each time, the room remained silent.

The chairperson smiled wider every time this happened.

“Very well,” he said. “Hearing none.”

This phrase was used often. It had become a favorite.

In the back row, a woman carefully raised her hand halfway, then remembered herself and turned the motion into a stretch. She was sweating.

The board member to the chairperson’s left leaned into his microphone.

“Mr. Chair,” he said, “I’d like to propose an amendment.”

The chairperson nodded.

“I believe we should consider expanding the permit requirement to include facial expressions.”

There was a brief pause.

The chairperson tilted his head.

“Clarify.”

“Well,” the board member said, “I’ve noticed some… looks. Nothing overt. But I can feel them.”

Several board members laughed. Quietly. Tastefully.

“I think it’s only fair,” the board member continued, “that if someone wishes to express disagreement through raised eyebrows or pursed lips, they should do so with proper authorization.”

The chairperson scribbled something down.

“Duly noted,” he said. “We’ll table that for next session.”

The board member nodded, pleased.

⸻

During the public comment portion of the meeting, the chairperson stood.

“As a reminder,” he said, “this portion of the meeting is reserved for individuals with active permits. If you are unsure whether your permit is active, expired, or imaginary, please refrain from speaking.”

He waited.

No one spoke.

“Wonderful,” he said. “Moving on.”

⸻

Outside the hall, a small line had formed near the bulletin board where notices were posted. Someone had taped up instructions for obtaining an Opinion Permit.

The instructions were extensive.

Step one required submitting Form 12-B, which could be obtained from the Office of Civic Expression, located in the municipal building that had been condemned the previous year.

Step two required attending a mandatory seminar titled Responsible Opinion Holding in a Modern Community.

The seminar was offered quarterly.

The next available date was listed as “TBD.”

Step three required approval from the Review Committee.

The Review Committee was not listed.

At the bottom, in smaller print, was a note:

Please allow 6–8 weeks for processing. Submitting multiple applications may delay approval.

Someone had written “HOW?” in pen next to it.

The pen had been removed.

⸻

Back inside, the meeting continued.

A man in the front row sneezed.

The security officer looked at him.

“Seasonal allergies,” the man said quickly.

The officer considered this, then nodded and stepped back.

The board did not acknowledge the incident.

⸻

The chairperson moved on to budget discussions.

“As you can see,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “everything is in order.”

He paused.

“I just want to say how refreshing it is,” he added, “to have such a respectful, engaged audience.”

Several board members nodded.

“It really shows the strength of our community,” another added.

Someone in the audience mouthed a word silently.

The security officer cleared his throat.

The person closed their mouth and stared straight ahead.

⸻

About halfway through the meeting, a young man stood up.

The room stiffened.

“I’m not speaking,” he said quickly. “I’m just leaving.”

The chairperson smiled.

“Of course,” he said. “You’re free to go.”

The young man hesitated.

“Am I allowed to be frustrated about this?” he asked.

The chairperson leaned forward.

“That depends,” he said kindly. “Are you planning to express it?”

The young man considered this.

“No,” he said.

“Then by all means,” the chairperson said. “Be as frustrated as you like.”

The young man nodded and left.

The board chuckled.

⸻

Later, a board member suggested creating a temporary permit for emergencies.

“Define emergency,” the chairperson said.

“Well,” the board member said, “say someone strongly disagrees with us.”

The chairperson laughed.

“Let’s not be dramatic.”

They voted unanimously to reject the idea.

⸻

As the meeting approached its scheduled end time, the chairperson stood once more.

“I just want to thank everyone for their participation tonight,” he said.

He paused, letting the silence sit.

“It’s been one of our most productive meetings yet.”

He nodded to the clerk.

“Any final comments?”

The clerk shook her head.

“No permits submitted during the meeting,” she said. “Very clean.”

“Excellent,” the chairperson said.

He raised his gavel.

“This meeting is adjourned.”

He brought it down.

The sound echoed through the room.

No one clapped.

No one spoke.

Everyone stood, quietly, and began to leave.

As they filed out, the board members remained seated, smiling, making notes about how smoothly everything had gone.

The chairperson leaned back in his chair.

“You know,” he said, “I think we should renew the permit rule.”

The others nodded.

“Indefinitely,” one said.

They all agreed.

Unanimously.