#76 Three Fools

I admit I’m oblivious sometimes. Okay, stupid. I get all caught up on what I think I heard and respond accordingly, only to find out that I hadn’t heard what I thought I heard at all and understood it even less. Like this guy at a meeting the other night. Well, it wasn’t really a meeting, it was one of those schmoozfests we all have to go to the pursuit of our professions. You know the type, buffet table with tepid snacks, 2 kinds of light beer, wine in a box, and what I call prom punch—the kind with 7-Up and ice cream in it
People had sort of clotted together in little conversational lumps and as I approached one of them, this guy was talking about skiing. Someone said something in my other ear at the same time and all I heard the first guy say was telemark something. At that point, one of those uncomfortable silences blared out, so, intrepid idiot that I am, I rushed into the social gap with a “How do you do that? Do you take a cellphone with a preprogrammed list or what? Everyone looked at me like I was a total buffoon. Uh oh. From social gap to social gaffe in three seconds flat. “Um,” I tried to explain, “You said you were a telemarketing skier right?”
“Telemark skier,” he said coldly, his voice sharp enough to carve the tightest turn.
I was left with only one response: “Are those meatballs over there?” Then, as I’m sure Emily Post would suggest, I beat feet.
I try not to say the wrong things. I really do. The other day my dear wife asked me that dread question and I thought I had it headed off. She came out wearing an outfit. “Does this make me look fat?” she asked.
“No,” I said (I’m not a complete dummy).
She changed anyway then came out and said: “Does this make me look fat?”
I said: “Not as fat as the last one.” Doh! When will I learn? Stick to the script, funny guy. Don’t try to ad lib. Just a little pointer boys. If your wife asks you if you’re having an affair the correct answer is not: “I wish.” Some conversations have no room for broad irony, or subtle sarcasm. As Nancy Reagan said: Just say No.
Still, I’d rather be a dufus and admit my mistakes now and then than be one of those macho guys that can’t ever drop their belligerent attitude—as if every interaction in life has to be viewed as a fight from which there can only emerge one victor. I was looking at this guy’s car the other day and there was a big dent in his front bumper. “What happened there,” I kidded, “run into a telemarketer?”
“Nah,” he said. “This guy stopped in front of me real quick and I slammed into him.”
“Bummer,” I said, knowing that in our state the person in the rear still gets the ticket.
“Ah, no problem” he postured, puffing out his chest and swaggering a little, “you should have seen what I did to his trailer hitch.”
America, ya gotta love it.