It’s understandable then, that I wasn’t overjoyed to see
him.
I was trying to master computer-aided drafting when he
ambled in looking like he had just returned from a week at the family home in
Kennebunkport.
“Wassup?” he said.
I cursed silently when a computer command that had worked
four straight times refused to acknowledge my existence on the fifth.
“I’ve been talking to
folks,” he said.
“Son of a bitch,” I said—to the computer, not to him.
“I said I’ve been talking to people.”
“That’s nice.”
He said, “Know what they tell me?”
“That you shouldn’t bother people while they’re
concentrating?”
“You know the last two postings—mine and yours?”
“That’s nice,” I said, half listening.
“I won.”
“Won what?”
“My last posting was better than yours.”
That stopped me. I hit “save” and looked up. “I didn’t know
it was a contest.”
“Everything is a contest,” he said. “Don’t you watch television?”
“As a last resort.”
“Your species demands winners and losers for some reason.”
He sat beside me. “And I need a new show to glorify some folks and humiliate others.”
He pointed to my computer. “I bet I could work that program better than you.
Wanna try me?”
“No,” I said. “No contests today. I’m going to do some yard
work here at the farm.”
“Yard work,” he said with excitement. “Great occasion for a
contest. I’ll get another team and we can race them getting a job done. We’ll
feature the winners on TV.”
“A contest featuring yard work? Might as well have one
renovating a kitchen.”
He sighed. “Haven’t you seen the “Do It Yourself” channel
lately?”
“No,” I said, “I’ve been writing a book.”
“Great idea,” he said. “They have this neat contest to see
who can write a book the fastest. Maybe you could be a ‘winner’ at something
before you check out.”
I returned my attention to the computer.
“Or,” he said. “You could debate someone on television. You might
not be such a loser at that.”
“A debate?” I said.
“Yeah,” just like the political candidates.”
“And who decides who is the winner and who is the loser?”
He looked offended. “Why we pundits, of course.” Then he
said, “You’re no fun. Where is Mrs. Big Dope?”
“I think she is fixing supper,” I said.
“Cooking,” he said, clapping his hands together. “What a
great idea for a contest.” Then he thought. “Maybe not. I’m not sure I would
like to be around her if someone labeled her ‘a loser’ on national TV.”
“I think you are learning a few things while you are on our
planet,” I said.
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| Don't you love the look on a loser's face? - C.W. |
“What else does she like to do?”
“She likes to sew.”
“Sewing,” he said with glee. “What a great way to find
winners and losers. Maybe she could be a judge.”
“I think I’ll go read a book.”
“I bet I can read faster than you,” he said.
I gave him the international gesture meaning “mind your own
business.”
“Loser,” he said as he wandered out of the room.
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