I have a friend who used to be a mid-level manager of a bank. During a restructuring phase (not of her design), she was ordered to fire somebody–a good, hardworking guy. He hadn’t done anything wrong or failed to perform his duties in any way. He was just the low head on the totem pole. It was the first time my friend had ever done anything like this. The night before she had to fire him, she became so nervous she went into her bathroom and threw up. The next day, twenty minutes before the close of business on Friday (five minutes prior to the time she was supposed to call him into her office to fire him), she went into the bathroom and threw up again.

Now while I feel bad both for my friend and for the guy she fired (who might even today still be looking for work—you never know), I’m honestly glad that there are still people left in the world who react in this manner, and puke at the prospect of having to tell somebody that today is his last day. If this type of person didn’t exist, the world would soon be overrun by people who propose amendments to amendments of amendments.

I should pause here to tell you that I have nothing against parliamentary procedure per se. In truth, I don’t really know all that much about it. I have never read a parliamentarian’s guidebook. I’ve never chaired a meeting. But I’ve sat in on many, both in organizations I worked for and in organizations I didn’t. I know how to propose things, second things, discuss things, and vote. I’ve skated through my entire career on these four skills alone. I used to think that’s all I would need. After all, the point of any workplace meeting—especially a meeting in full parliamentary swing— should at its core be about improving conditions by solving problems, right? If you solve problems you create a better product, and if you create a better product you attract more customers, who in turn create more business. These truths would seem to apply equally to workplaces where the “product” is a college education, a better video phone, or a matching set of stainless steel mouse traps. The more business you have, the less “restructuring” you have to do that involves going into to your bathroom and throwing up.

Which is why I don’t understand amendments to amendments of amendments. Whenever they’re made, everyone in the meeting has usually been sitting there for two hours already. The issue on the floor has been there for years in one form or another—this is simply its latest incarnation. Somebody doesn’t agree with the wording of the original proposal, so—bam!—the original friendly amendment is produced, the wording of which in turn inevitably generates further disagreement! Then the wording of this amendment is discussed for a while. If the disagreement can’t be resolved, presto! There is a motion to amend the amendment!

It should be pointed out that both the amendment and the amendment to the amendment are considered “friendly” at this point only because a mere three straight hours of meeting time have now elapsed. I have never seen a meeting entering its fourth hour in which an amendment to an amendment of an amendment was still preceded by that adjective. Rather, “friendly” is replaced by tittering.

Titter, just in case you weren’t aware of this offhand, means “restrained, nervous laughter” (I looked it up). There are many reasons, I think, for why people titter. Four straight hours of doing anything, even if the activity is pleasant for the first hour or two, runs the risk of wearing down on the nerves. I also argue that most people do not consider the act of amending amendments (not once but twice) to be pleasant. Additional strain is generated by the fact that once an amendment of an amendment has been proposed for amendment, nobody knows what the hell anybody else is talking about anymore. Nonetheless a vote must be taken or the issue ends up getting tabled, where it becomes old business to be resolved—or not—in the next meeting. Thus, titter.

Well, far be it for me to complain without proposing some sort of method for overcoming these obstacles to effective workplace governance. Here’s what I think should be done: One, take the amount of customers you have at any given point in time, paint that number on a big sign, and hang it up in the room where you’re having the meeting. Two, count the number of employees you currently have and put that number on another sign (hanging it up next to the first). Three, look at your business projections and come up with a simple mathematical formula showing how the former number affects the latter. If the latter number now has to be reduced because the former was never all that high to begin with (in part because the organization, after wasting its time crafting amendments to amendments of amendments, never actually got around to solving problems), then four, make a declaration at the end of the meeting that the organization is now officially in tough times. Any declaration of this sort should in turn require a scan of the notes of the last five years’ worth of meeting minutes in order to ascertain (and make a list of) exactly who proposed an amendment to an amendment of an amendment at any given point in time. If possible, such a list should also include the names of those who tittered after this phrase was uttered.

And finally, five: require each person whose name is on that list to become a member of the Firing Committee. These individuals should be charged with the task of informing everyone who will have to be “let go” of this year that they’re in fact going to be let go. Also charge each member on this committee with the additional task of following these ex-employees home to take down the further minutes of any subsequent family meetings that will no doubt occur once they (the people who got fired) tell their spouses. These minutes should be as complete as possible, and include a thorough analysis of any nonverbal cues that might be expressed (at the dinner table that night, for example, as the two spouses in question now try to hide the worst of their feelings from their young children).

Make them do all of this, and provide them with no bathrooms to throw up in.

Titter ought to vanish from workplace meetings fairly quickly after that, I suspect. Amendments to amendments of amendments, likewise, should also rapidly turn into rational, coherent discussion from there on out. But if that doesn’t happen, consideration of some new workplace policies might be warranted. People who turn what is supposed to be a problem-solving session into a friggin’ farce in the name of parliamentary procedure (or at least what they think is parliamentary procedure) should be shown the door at the outset, if not the backdoor of the workplace… then at the very least the door to that particular meeting room.