Although different University students get made fun of at one time or another, perhaps no group has it as bad as tablers. These representatives of one organization or another crowd the central intersection of the Lawn in the name of all manner of causes, and they take all kinds of abuse for it. The way some people malign tablers, you'd think they'd broken up Brad and Jennifer or that they'd come up with the idea of No Tray Tuesdays.
Certainly, this is not without some justification. After all, passing through the gauntlet of tablers can mean being yelled at, direct personal confrontation or, worst of all, being thrust a leaflet which one has no intention of reading.
The tricky and clever among us avoid this ordeal altogether through strategic use of iPods or cell phones or by deploying a patented absent stare that lets any observer know we are not in the mood. But most people don't have time to come up with clever schemes on the way to class and so end up swamped with solicitations, flustered and even embarrassed. As a result, they're distrustful of the tablers, somewhat similar to the way Simba was distrustful of Timon and Pumbaa in "The Lion King," only more intense.
Determined to tear down the barriers of misunderstanding, or at least to get a column out of it, I tabled recently on a sunny afternoon -- perfect tabling weather. Feeling very much like the Croc Hunter, I gathered many helpful observations in the tablers' natural environment.
My colleagues and I took the passive approach, letting our sign do the talking for us. I must say we presented a very dignified and welcoming image, which I'm sure was appreciated by the masses coming to and from class. I came up with a good rule for tablers: either don't talk or shout in a general manner. Think about it: The last time most of these people were abruptly addressed by a stranger, it was Chuck Norris trying to sell them exercise equipment on TV. People on their way to a discussion they're dreading don't need to be singled out.
We also didn't hand out any pieces of paper. The tablers' pieces of paper have become like colored little promises: Take one and you can leave. Unfortunately, inspection of the first trash can down from the tablers usually yields dozens of the little buggers. There's got to be a better way.
All in all, though, it was a beautiful display of free speech. And the tablers truly enjoy what they do -- who wouldn't love to be in the sun on the Lawn? So clearly some sort of peace needs to be made between the tablers and We the People. A blue and orange "Hakuna Matata," if you will.
Let the tablers do their work. We all know in our hearts we'd be crushed if no one came to our events, and that's all that tabling is: avoiding that terrible loneliness. Smile and be receptive to their message. And keep the slips of paper for notepaper, or at least recycle them. When you throw one away, a little dream dies.
As for the people of the tables, a little courtesy is in order; don't bother anybody in a terrible hurry, and don't make anyone feel uncomfortable. People shouldn't feel awkward walking around their own University, and they won't be won over by being frightened. Use the strong silent approach, and trust that "if you put it on a table with a colorful poster, they will come."
If a little common sense comes to inhabit that sacred intersection on Mr. Jefferson's Lawn, we will all be the better for it. We will realize that a table in plain sight on a sunny day is not something to be feared but a genuine attempt at human outreach, a rare find nowadays, and cherish it. On that great and glorious day, we'll all join hands and say to one another, "By all that is good and decent in this world, I will go to that concert/party/philanthropy event." The answer to peace in our time is right there on the table.
(Sorry.)
Matt's column runs bi-weekly on Fridays. He can be reached at mwaring@cavalierdaily.com.
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