TELL THEM MENSO SENT YOU!

I guess I'm not such a genius after all.

This sad truth came clear recently after I suffered the indignity of taking a Mensa brainiac test.

The folks at American Mensa are making a special effort this year to "reach out" to journalists, allowing them to take the test that would determine if they are certified geniuses. To qualify for Mensa, applicants must score in the top two percent on any standard IQ test.

From the outset, I wondered how smart these Mensa people really are. Why, for instance would the allegedly smartest people on earth believe they might find genius from among the ranks of journalists? Don't they read the papers? Haven't they been watching television news? Have they never stepped foot in a newsroom?

In the world of modern journalism, the definition of "mental acuity" is keeping up with George W. Bush during a press conference.

Question: What did the reporter get on his IQ test?

Answer: Coffee.

Expecting a journalist to qualify for Mensa is like expecting the president of the taxpayers' association to leave a decent tip at a restaurant.

If Mensans are so smart, why are they inviting journalists to join them?

And there are other clues. For example, I may not be a genius, but why would a group composed of brainiacs would name their club Mensa, which is Spanish for "dumb girl?"

Confused, I took Mensa up on its invitation. I was told to show up at the community room at a bank building on a Sunday afternoon for the test.

Because I am a journalist, I've always known I'm not a genius, despite recurring comments from readers who continually want to know "who the bleepin' genius is who writes those bleepin' columns on Fridays."

Also, my brain cells have suffered a steady deterioration over the years due to the fact that I am a sports fan who plays golf.

Oh yeah, and I'm from Prunedale. What self-respecting menso from Prunedale would admit to being a genius even if he was one?

Anyhow, my Mensa brainiac test was administered by a proctor trainee named Jacquelyn Powers under the watchful eye of a trained proctor named Bruce Dick. They both seemed like very normal people, despite their genius.

Powers informed me I will not be told the results of my tests, only that I would be notified whether I am qualified to join Mensa. In other words, I won't be told exactly how menso I really am.

"Why not?" I asked. If someone goes through all the trouble of taking the test, the least they can find out is how they scored.

Dick explained that Mensa officials are not doctors who are qualified to give people a true assessment of their intellectual prowess. Powers said liability issues are involved. Apparently, people take their genius — or their lack thereof — very seriously.

So I took the test, which is composed of a series of confounding questions that can only be answered with No. 2 pencils.

After my test is scored, I'll be formally notified by mail that testing me was a pointless exercise and a waste of a beautiful afternoon.

The good news, however, is that someone who might be reading this column might be a genius, despite the fact that they are reading this column. Mensa is holding its annual "admissions testing day" on Saturday.

Bring $30 and a photo ID to take the Mensa test to the Community Bank Community Room on 599 Lighthouse Blvd. at 12:45 p.m. The pencils are provided.