Objects in mirror appear larger than they are ...
This is a commonly used punchline for jokes involving the penis. Prick, if you will. Dick, s'il vous plait. But it works for other things as well. Here's an illustration. I used to work with a guy, let's call him Ted, as a software engineer in Baton Rouge. We never had any classes together at LSU, but I saw him around campus and in the Computer Science department a lot. He was a pretty quiet and reserved person from what I gathered. When he and I began working together we were in the same office and so we eventually had to start up a conversation. From looking at the guy, it didn't seem like he was a big hit with the ladies, though, so that avenue probably wasn't the best to pursue. He might have weighed a buck - o - five, soaking wet. He had long, stringy hair, bad skin and he was extremely clumsy on his feet. Granted, I'm no stallion, myself, but at the time I had lost a lot of weight and was feeling slightly better about the 160 lb. me than the 240 lb me. But what could we have in common? Code? That's way too much like shop-talk. Who wants to spend all their time talking about work?
Being the master of deduction I am, seeing the long hair, I assumed that topics like Pearl Jam and grunge in general would be fair game. One day I just fired up the office CD player with some really ancient PJ and set to hacking out some ASP. About 2 minutes into Once, I could see a grimace growing on Ted's face, soon turning into near physical pain. So I asked him if he would like for me to turn it down a bit. He nodded and I complied. Confused now, I had to ask him whether 90's grunge was just not his style or what? Much to my surprise, this guy had a huge jazz collection and even played stand-up bass. Who'd of thunk it? With that layer of the onion peeled, at least I knew where we both stood on music. And because I do listen to some jazz, it wasn't a stretch for us to converse on Monk or Davis occassionally.
One day, my boss, and let's call him Steve, strolled into our office while we were both meandering about just such a topic. Now, Steve was an insufferable ass, but he paid well and wasn't around much. He's young, maybe in his mid-thirties. He started his company in the dot com boom and then struggled to keep it afloat by adding network installation and administration as a service. He's been divorced once (his ex-wife was screwing around on him). As a result, he's addicted to dating now. His last girlfriend, Sarah, was a really nice girl. She was cute, not at all a beauty for the ages, but attractive in that girl-you-would-bring-home-to-mom kind of way. How she ended up falling for Steve is confounding enough, but it gets worse.
In conversation, apparently, he suggested that she augment her breasts to improve her appearance. She balked at the idea and a good bit of heated debate ensued, eventually culminating in Steve dumping her for refusing to get "bigger boobs." I know what you're thinking - plenty of people are shallow like that, but wait for it; Sarah eventually realized that she really loved Steve in spite of his short-comings and decided to surprise him one day at his house with two brand spanking new "D-sized" friends. Believing he would see her new sweater puppies, realize her gesture of sacrifice for what it was, and immediately take her back, (and let's be clear on this point) she spent time, money and pain on this man. To what end? He slammed the door in her face and left her on the doorstep crying. His cited reason: Anyone who would do something like that is just way too superficial for him. Oh yes, true story.
So it was no surprise to me when on the day Steve walked in on Ted and I talking about jazz, he decided to start his own little tradition. Seeing that Ted had finally begun to talk to the natives (me), Steve decided it was time to "initiate" him. This started with a few not so subtle jabs at his appearance. Every so often words like "hippy" or "haircut" found their way into conversation where they were otherwise not appropriate. This went on un-checked by anyone for a few days. But quickly, the "Friday Night Fever" comments became the favorite. I mentioned earlier that Ted wasn't exactly the looker. This was a point clearly not overlooked by Steve and once he saw that first wave of red rise in Ted's cheeks, the game was on.
Every Friday became Steve's reason to come in to the office. With the weekend only hours away, he would stroll in and have a seat, ask us how things were going, and then it would start;
"So, who's the lucky lady tonight Ted? I hear there's a Sailor Moon marathon on cartoon network. Bah!, I'm just messin' with ya!"
"Hey, Jared want to go with me to the Gold Club? Here's a pass," Steve says as he actually hands me a yellow pass from a stack of them in his wallet, "I'd give one to Shirley here but I want to get a lap dance tonight, and not from him." Only Steve laughs.
This went on for weeks, each Friday the same as before. At several points, Ted's sexual preferences were at issue in the aforementioned, not-so-subtle nature of Steve's verbal assaults. (I think even I blushed a time or two after a few of those.) There were even jabs at Ted's mother (being a woman, you can see the obvious joke possibilities here). Of course, there were a few choice anorexia (and bulimia and Ethiopian) comments, all of which in some way challenged Ted's manhood and ability to find a suitable Friday-night mate. (I can only imagine the fallout if more than the three of us were within earshot - and thank God no one else usually was when the more profane ranting ensued.)
Steve seemed to have rehearsed for hours, trying to find a way to be both the most offensive and least sensitive person in Ted's life, while maintaining the minimum level of attirition needed to keep Ted chomping at the bit. I don't know why or how Ted could take it, but he never budged. I personally felt I should have said something, but it just didn't seem right to stick up for him as if I felt sorry for him. Because the truth is, I didn't. He's a good guy and was capable of standing up for himself. Nonetheless, I felt like somebody should have been punching Steve in the nose. Praying on someone's insecurities or feelings just for sport - well that's just downright pathetic. And the way he did it - it's as if he wanted Ted to say something, like he was just waiting to see where Ted would finally snap and fly off the handle - just reminds me now of what a huge ego he had and how little regard he had for other's feelings. It reminds me of how sad it is to think that his satisfaction had to come at someone else's expense. And it reminds me of how things appear larger than they are in the rearviewmirror.
I wonder if I can enroll Steve in a sensitivity training course and have the registration papers mailed to his house.
posted by Mr. The Buffalo at 4:18 PM
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