By my generation Shriners (and all those types of organizations) are primarily associated with old guys wearing goofy hats. I know there's a lot more to it than that but honestly I wouldn't even consider joining any of them until after I retire.
MR. WIGGIN: Yes, well, that's the sort of blinkered, philistine pig ignorance I've come to expect from you non-creative garbage. You sit there on your loathsome, spotty behinds squeezing blackheads, not caring a tinker's cuss for the struggling artist. You excrement! You whining, hypocritical toadies, with your colour TV sets and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs and your bleeding Masonic secret handshakes! You wouldn't let me join, would you, you blackballing bastards! Well, I wouldn't become a freemason now if you went down on your lousy, stinking knees and begged me!
CITY GENT #2: Well, we're sorry you feel like that, but we, um, did... want... a block of flats. Nice, though, the abattoir is. Huh huh.
MR. WIGGIN: Oh, p-p-p-p the abattoir.
(He dashes forward and kneels in front of them.)
That's not important, but if one of you could put in a word for me, I'd love to be a freemason. Freemasonry opens doors. I mean, um, I-- I was a bit on edge just now, but-- but if I was a mason, I'd just sit at the back and not get in anyone's way.
CITY GENT #1: Thank you.
MR. WIGGIN: I've got a second-hand apron.
CITY GENT #2: Thank you.
(Mr. Wiggin hurries to the door but stops...)
MR. WIGGIN: I nearly got in at Hendon.
CITY GENT #1: Thank you.
http://www.ibras.dk/montypython/episode17.htm#2
Yeah ... and driving those silly little cars around in circles at local parades. Haven't had the slightest inclination ever to be a Shriner ...