“No, let’s see, not ‘oodagh,’ more like ‘oaaard.’ Yes that’s
it.” I heard the sound of computer keys clacking. Then, “Be sure to alter
volume with each syllable. This is especially effective for older customers.”
I rounded the corner and walked into the room. There sat
C.W. at my desk and working with my computer. He had taken the shape of a young
man in his thirties, looking much like a stockbroker, political junkie, or perhaps
a defendant at a murder trial.
“Just a moment,” he said. He took breath and blurted, “Wiiikledmardls-wuchlickor-dalysshhicletoody?”
“What on earth?” I said. “Are you working on your
Falloonian?”
“No,” he said. “I have a contract. A thought struck him. “Urdootallybeesimoupnoint.”
“What?”
“Pliadouantodsuchantweeedur.” He continued without paying me
any attention.
“What kind of contract and with whom?”
“A teaching contract,” he said, at last giving me his full
attention. “It’s for a fast food federation.”
“A what?”
“Fast food federation.”
“And what are you doing for a fast food federation?”
“Writing a manual on confusonics.”
“On what?”
“Confusonics. It’s a training manual.”
“Who for?”
“The kids who take orders for fast-food drive-throughs.”
“Come again?”
“It teaches them to speak so there is no possibility that they
can be understood by anyone trying to make an order.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No, no, the corporations have found that confusion makes
money and money makes profits.”
“Confusion?”
“Yes. Confused customers then to order more expensive items.”
“So they teach the kids how not to be understood?”
“Of course,” he said. “Comprehension is the enemy, and is to
be avoided."
I shook my head. “It works,” I said.
“It even works better when they rush the customer. Unhurried
customers tend to buy cheaper items.”
“I’m glad to see you’ve found a calling.”
“Business is booming,” he said. “We offer free, introductory
chewing gum with this product. Want to help?”
“I don’t know.”
“I have an assignment just made for you. It’s from your own
profession.”
“Urban planning?”
“Right. It’s for another manual.”
“What manual?”
“It’s called Misunderstanding
Upon Demand.”
“Misunderstanding?”
 |
| "Good! Next man. How great I am and what a pleasure to serve under me." - C.E. |
“Yep. The subtitle will be, Let Your Work Be Clear As MUD Can Make It.”
I must have looked confused, for he took a sheet from the
table and read from it. “The plan, using a broad array of self-empowerment
aids, will allow citizens to efficaciously move through a time-synchronized myriad
of wayfinding enablements to established a community-oriented sense of place.”
I must have looked confused, although a hint of familiar made
its lonely way through my comprehensatory mechanisms, as we say.
“That’s just the back-cover blurb of the training manual,”
he said. “Neat huh?”
“Are you serious about all this?”
“Maybe you’d rather work on an assignment for the Army.” He picked
up another pile of sheets and read. “The strategic and service-wide transitional
depositions activated as comprehensive tactical support directives requiring
the accommodating of the mandatory incorporation of gender-variable war-wagers
into combat-planning doctrine, as previously set forth, are hereby non-mandated and superseded,
and the provisions herein are effectuated and installed for immediate dissemination.”
He smiled. “Neat huh?”
“So you write training manuals now?”
“Oh, much more than that. I have a major study I’m working on.”
“What kind of study?”
“And in-depth analysis of why young Americans use texting as
a replacement for face-to-face conversations.”
See also:
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