Bossy is an impolite way to describe efficient.

People sometimes say I'm a nice guy. These times are not during meetings.

I'm not against meetings per-se, especially ones where I'm the chairperson. All others bore me to death, unless I can dominate the conversation until people confuse me with the chair.

I mean the chair person. I am hardly ever confused with furniture aside from Lay-Z-Boy recliners.

Effectively, meetings are for people unable to articulate themselves in email or are equally incompetent in comprehension thereof. If it could have been done in written communication it would have. The clue comes in when the meeting is little more than a series of dictated memos.

I firmly believe that the purpose is usually for someone to be observed so you know when to S-L-O-W D-O-W-N and repeat yourself based on visual cues. Everyone else is invited to prevent singling that person out. I say this because I'm pretty sure I've been both the filler and the dullard.

The single most frustrating part of the meeting is when someone, often said dullard, becomes microfocused on one minutae of detail and can not let it go. Reasoning with them is like using a laser to burn the eyes out of the person in the mirror.

Them: Will the system be yellow?
Me: Huh?
Them: The screen shows a yellow picture. I don't want to look at a yellow program.
Me: Oh. Ha ha. Yes, the projector has a problem with the pin for the yellow signal from the computer. For the third time, the program won't be yellow.
Them: Are you sure, because I see it's yellow right here.

The only correct way of dealing with this is asking them WHAT colour they want it and then charge them $100 for the change.

This week we had a family meeting. It was to plan out some chores for the week. I pulled out a spiffy bulletin board, printed out chores, applied them to pushpins and attempted to include the children in scheduling the tasks they were to shirk and procrastinate.

What was I thinking?

Quite quickly my younger daughter assumed the role of the dullard. As Master Yoda would say "much of her father I see in her".

Her: There is no downstairs bedroom.
Me: Yes, that is Granny and Grandpa's bedroom.
Her: Thats the basement bedroom.
Me: Same thing.
Her: No it isn't.
Me: What direction do you have to go to get to it?
Her: Downstairs.
Me: Point mad...
Her: To the basement.

The older one continually pestered if we were done yet. This was before we started the meeting.

Suffice to say family meetings adhere consistently to the pattern of workplace meetings, except that at work when someone is assigned duties they don't immediately whine and suck their thumb. They save that for their cubicle.