Thursday, May 13, 2010

Third Person Thursday: Not A Bad Idea

(Setting: A row of cubicles in a fluorescent bulb lit office. Two co-workers sit back to back in one cubicle opening, typing on their respective computers.)

Hank (turning to Steve): Can’t decide what I want for lunch.

Steve (turning to Hank): How about chicken wings. There’s this new place that opened up I’ve been wanting to try.

H: That’s not a bad idea.

(Steve pauses)

S: So…what does that mean?

H: It means yes, let’s try it.

S: Okay, because you didn’t say yes at first or that it was a good idea, you just said it wasn’t a bad idea.

H: That means it’s a good idea.

S: You should just say it’s a good idea then, not that it’s not a bad idea.

H: Same thing.

S: No it’s not the same thing at all.

H: Sure it is. If it’s not a bad idea, it must be a good idea.

S: It could be a mediocre or average idea. It could even be a fair or lame idea without being a bad idea. That’s a pretty crappy way of saying something is good. That’s like me telling you that you don’t smell like a wet fart today. First of all, that’s far from saying that you smell good, second, it suggests that you usually do smell like a wet fart. To comment that my idea isn’t bad is like saying I usually have terrible ideas, but for once you’re surprised I was able to pull an idea out of my ass that wasn’t as terrible as most of my ideas usually are.

H: You’re reading into this. If I say something is not a bad idea, I mean that it’s a good idea.

S: Then you must have some commitment issues, my friend. No wonder you’ve never dated a girl for more than a month. When they ask you how they look, do you say, they don’t look awful? That’s reassuring. She wants you to say I love you and she gets an, “I don’t hate you.”

H: Take it easy!

S: You’re the one taking it easy! It’s easy to say what things aren’t.

(Steve turns, takes a pencil from his desk and turns back to Hank)

S: This pencil isn’t green. It’s also not a dog or a great white shark. How about not speaking in riddles? What am I trying to navigate my way through the booby trap infested tomb of some ancient king? If it’s good, it’s good. This pencil is yellow. It is used to write. It is made of wood.

H: You need everything spelled out for you, don’t you? Can’t solve any of your own problems. Can’t read between the lines. You want to talk about me not keeping a girlfriend, maybe that’s why Kelly left you. You take everything literally. You can’t pick up on anything that isn’t explicitly said. You must have been a real treat to try and communicate with. What a great conversationalist.

S: Well excuse me for being precise and honest. Maybe if more people communicated the way I do, there would be less confusion. I make no apologies for telling people what I really think and I’d want them to show me the same respect. No pussy footing around and telling me what they don’t think.

H: You want to know what I think? I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re a pain in the ass. I think you rock back and forth on that stupid chair too much and the creaking noise it makes keeps me from getting my work done. And the way you type with only two fingers drives me absolute bat shit! I have never seen anyone type as slowly as you do. It’s no wonder you never have anything ready by deadline. How’s that for precise and honest?

S: Oh, so now we’re talking like one another, huh? Well let me oblige. You aren’t the worst salesman in the world. You don’t bore me to sleep when you insist on talking to me about the entire major league baseball schedule from the previous night. The loud printed ties you wear every damn day don’t blind me. I don’t think the amount of hair gel you use on a daily basis is going to give you brain cancer.

H: Kiss my ass!

S: Go to hell!

(Both men turn back to their own desks suddenly. They sit in silence for several minutes, each one looking over their shoulder at the other several times, but never simultaneously.)

S (Quietly, with his back to Hank): So do you want some chicken wings?

H: Yeah, sure.

S: Should I order a side of blue cheese?

H: I guess that couldn’t hurt.

S: I’m gonna smack you.

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