Contrary to
some noders' proclamations, Mensa does not
claim that its
members are
geniuses ... because
Mensans know better than that, of course. Genius
I.Q.--depending upon the
individual test--is generally considered around 160 or better; the
top 2% is generally around 130 or better, again, depending upon which test is doing the
measuring.
Mensa is a club whose only requirement for inclusion is a score in the top two percentile on any of several standardized intelligence tests. That said, Mensa is populated for the most part by: (a) lonely people; and (b) financially unsuccessful people desiring verification that there is something worthy about them, ie, their intelligence. Many Mensans just haven't fit in very well with the world at large.
Before you point and laugh, consider for a moment a life in which social assimiliation--despite valiant efforts--is simply not happenin'. Like rollerbladers, quilters, and alcoholics, the Mensan is merely gravitating toward a place where he will innately belong, where fitting in is not an issue, because all the group's members have a common, inalienable, characteristic. Ahh, sweet relief.
While there certainly is a healthy smattering of physicists and lawyers at any given Mensan function, it cannot be denied that janitors, receptionists, and the unemployed comprise a head-scratchingly-large piece of the pie. This is most likely because highly intelligent people typically have an ample supply of peers, rubbing elbows in medical and law school, given the bare modicum of emotional nurturance in youth. These types have no need to seek social contacts with whom they might converse naturally, and not be monosyllabically restrained. But the emotionally fucked smarty-pants, raised in trailer parks or by psycho parental units, finds himself at a place in life where his social peers tend to be double digits below him in brightness. Would we blame this poor, under-encouraged fellow for his unfortunate and lonely lot in life? Of course not. And it is just such a person who eventually--if he's lucky--finds his way to a Mensa roundtable, where he is immediately interrupted and challenged and hugged and fed ... and at home.