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The G-Pack

The Source

I think the proper word is “cabal,” but we don’t use that word much. A cabal is a small group of people who gather because of a common interest. Very often they’re a secret society so I don’t think that quite fits. Maybe “cell” is a better word. All I know is that these little groups can be found absolutely everywhere and I think they’re increasing both in number and influence. The cabals that I’m talking about are groups of ladies, usually 3-6 in number who sit together, drink coffee together, often dine as a group, and go places in clumps. You seldom see one member of the cabal without finding the others nearby. In general, men don’t form cabals. They just hang out and they’re promiscuous in their friendships. A man walks into the coffee shop, sees a choice of two tables full of loafers, and he’ll pick the seat closest to him. A woman will head for her cabal. She’s more cabal-istic. Used to be you could find these female cabals only in restaurants or church basements but in recent years they’ve become bolder and expanded their territory to include retirement homes, places of work, and even places that were once the sole domain of men. It’s getting scary and to my knowledge no one has studied this growing phenomenon. I guess that leaves it to me. My observations: I’ve toyed with a name to give this new cultural group. Several ideas jump to mind but I’ve settled on Granny Pack, G-Pack for short. The G-Pack will have a leader. She will not have been elected by any process, but through the years of the group’s friendship, she will have evolved as the Alpha Female. She’s easy to spot. At the end of each meeting of the G-Pack she’ll be the one to say, “Well, I need to be going,” and magically the other members will need to take off as well. Oh, it’s not a dictatorship. In fact, the members argue freely among themselves. Some days a good argument is all they accomplish, but leader always evolves from the pack. G-Packs are territorial. When the group sits to convene, they tend to take the same chairs and their area is well defined. Walk into the typical café or retirement home and you’ll find them in the same spot, day after day. To my knowledge there have been no reported acts of outright violence if another group has unknowingly taken their spot, but sometimes fierceness is implied. At the very least, if you mistakenly plop down in the G-Pack’s spot, they won’t be paying for your coffee that day. G-Packs cleverly disguise their existence using various diversionary tactics. They pretend to play cards or bingo or dominoes. This is simply a cover for their real purpose: holding the civilized world together. They have built-in radar that can detect interlopers and outsiders. If a stranger walks into the place where they’re drinking and playing, conversation will stop. Every eye in the G-Pack will be trained upon the stranger as invisible messages shoot back and forth from one G-Packer to another, “Who is he?” “Does he belong here?” “What’s that say on his coat?” “How old would you say he was?” Twitter moves at a snail’s pace in comparison to their G-Pack ESP. They have no standard uniform. In fact, there’s a general lack of discipline in the group and no single member takes her orders from another. They have a bond much deeper and stronger than any dress code or set of rules could specify. The only exception to this is Christmas time when they all seem to start sporting colorful sweaters. And for some inexplicable reason, most G-Packs have a special fondness for ice cream. Don’t misunderstand me. The G-Pack is not exactly clique or gang. They don’t meet to exclude others or harass the waitress just because she got the order wrong. The G-Pack exists for truly noble and necessary purposes. It brings a bit of order to an otherwise disjointed and confusing world. The G-Pack gives its blessing to things it likes . . . political parties, the retirement home administrators, the peach pie, and custodial staff, and makes the necessary judgments on those of us who don’t pass the muster…the old man at the next table, the nurses who smell like smoke, and the new girl with the spider tattoo behind the counter. We need the G-Pack because the group is the source of the best and most current information and God knows they do enjoy life. If you ask to sit with them they’ll give you a seat, but don’t expect them to pay for your ice cream. For that you need to go form your own Granny Pack.