As I’ve mentioned before (right here actually – http://tinyurl.com/66xexy) there are certain words, phrases, and actions I find inelegant. Not that I could ever be considered elegant (I swear and glare too much for that) but that doesn’t stop me from blanching at others.
I’m not talking about the common words that don’t exist but are heard daily or ones that are mispronounced. I’m talking about phrases that are full blown lies (have you ever called someone at 3:17AM who said they’re there for you 24/7?) and one of the biggest is, “Doing the right thing.” As in,
“I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“I just want to do the right thing.”
“I’m here to do the right thing.”
“That’s why I’m here. To do the right thing.”
The sentence structure is almost endless but they only have one thing in common. They are lies. Blatant, flippant, out-right lies. No matter the phrasing, what they really mean to say is,
“There’s no way in fuckin’ hell I wanna be doin’ this but I couldn’ think of a friggin’ way outta it.”
I’ve never heard ‘doing the right thing’ and not checked the lock on my chastity belt.
Over the past few months I’ve been dealing with the reigning king of do the right thing. I’d inwardly moan when I’d see him walk in because every transaction was mind-numbingly similar. He’d tell me, even though it’s not his problem, he’s here to do the right thing. Facts are malleable to right thingers. In this case, the absolute fact, backed up by signatures and government issue identification, is it is his problem.
Then he’d give me some of the money he owes. Well, he’d put it on the counter but never actually release it. He’d toy with it. Caress it. All the while telling me his tragic tale of woe.
What’s often also true with right thingers is their tale is an S.I.W. They robbed those people. They did those drugs. They did the time. Sounds like self-inflicted wounds to me.
The next step, with the cash still being fondled like a passed out prom date, is threats. Some from past lives (“If I was still the guy I was I’da shot you by now.”); some vague (“I know what time you get here.”); some delusional (“I know powerful people.”). Each time we’d get to this part in the proceedings I tell him if he doesn’t want to pay, don’t. But stop giving me shit.
That’s when there’d be a stand-off. For a moment. Then he’d explode. Screaming, banging, carrying-on. More threats. More excuses. More examples of him doing the right thing followed by negotiation. I’d tell him we’ve negotiated a buy out, signed by him of his own volition, and that’s what we’re sticking to. Once I said that, he’d go back to threats. This time less on my brain seeing more sunlight than is generally deemed safe and more on getting his powerful people to bring the company down.
After I’d tell him to do what he had to do, whether that was pay or not, kill or not, topple the company or not, he’d toss (yes, toss. I’d end up with a chest full of twenties) the money at me. Well, part of it. Like I said, this went on for months so he’d always short pay.
But, finally, like a persistent rectal itch, it too passed. I gave him a paid in full receipt, he called me all kindsa colorful and hateful names, and I didn’t give him another thought.
Until now.
A gentleman introduced himself with the air of someone who figured I’d know who he was. Imagine his surprise when it turned out I had no damn clue. Flustered, as only someone with an ego inflated to his level could, he pulls out his official government identification.
Boy did I feel foolish! How could I not know the city councilor of a section of a city I not only don’t live or work in but wouldn’t even pass through? So I guess you knew there was only one thing I could do to make up for my faux paux. I gathered all my sincerity and said,
“Yeah? So?”
The nerve of some people! In the presence of greatness with an utter lack of respect. I don’t know, sort of sums me up, don’t you think?
He begins to explain why he’s here. He didn’t need to, I knew why he was here the moment I saw his cracker jack prize ID, but he did come all the way across city lines so I let him go. Until the story began to verge into the realm of fantasy.
After my sixth utterance of,
“That’s not what happened.”
I reminded him, again, that, being indoors, we use our indoor voice and if he continued to talk over me we would not get anywhere with this situation.
How come it’s never the pissed off person in front of you who’ll do the real damage? It’s always some unseen gawdhead of immense power who will do you in? I mean, I have people, but I’m more of a hands on kinda guy with my problems.
“I know people in your city hall.”
“Are we gonna play my father can beat up your father?”
I asked if he knew this guy, a well-connected politician in his city way above his pay grade. Then I asked if he knew this guy’s political second. Then I asked him if he knew this other guy. He balked at the third name. I smiled knowing the third guy was the power behind that lineage.
“Let’s focus on the issue at hand, shall we?”
I do my own dirty work but I’m not above showing my hand.
Of course, not all people have the same self-reliance. He threatens us with every branch of city, state, and federal hound he can think of. To each I respond,
“Bring it on.”
We run a clean business. We’re up to code. But that’s not why I’m so cocky. He’s played out. He’s pulled out everything he has and none of it matters on this side of town. I can see him slowly reach this conclusion. As he does, his tone changes. Not his volume, he’s still as loud as a car crash, but now he’s directly defending his constituent.
“The only reason he was here was to do the right thing.”
“If so, why did he pull the same shit you just did? Every time he stepped in here he’d threaten me with bodily harm, threaten the business, and end the proceedings by throwing the money he legally owed at me.”
“That’s not how he tells it. You don’t know what you’re talking about. He must have dealt with someone else.”
“I was the only one who dealt with him. I’m the only one without an agenda. I’m the only one telling the truth. And do you know how I can prove that?”
“How?”
“By telling you he threatened to, to quote, ‘sic my juice on you.'” I look him in his eyes and with as much derision I can twist into my voice say, “You’re his juice?”
He begins, sadly, at the beginning. As he regales me with tales of the damage he can do I softly say,
“He’s paid. No longer a client. We have no further business with him. We have no further need of your presence in this building.”
I turn and walk to my desk. I knew that wasn’t going to get him to exit in any reasonable time but I knew while he babbled I could get some paperwork done. I do like to make the best use of my time.
I let him go on for a few minutes before I put down my pen and look at him. He stops talking long enough for me to say,
“As you can see, I’ve got more pressing items to take care of so let’s get to the end. You came here. You juiced all over my floor. Now, you can go back and, just like your constituent, spin any tale you’d like. How I cowered at your presence. How you saved the day and taught the evil business to respect those who are only trying to do the right thing. Whatever you want to say. Just leave so you can do it.”
Boy, some people are difficult to make happy. Here I am giving him an opportunity to shine in the eyes of the community and all he can do is threaten me. I guess it’s true, people do get the government they deserve.
“You haven’t heard the last from me.” He bangs on the counter while I file papers. He stares at me. Waiting for me to look him in the eye to see those vibrant orbs of power. I do and smile.
“I’m sure if you don’t get that park renovation through the council it will be.”
I see his glare slip.
“Good luck with your re-election. At least you’ll get one vote.”
Okay, so I may let people do my dirty work from time to time.
But I never show my entire hand.
Those politicians I mentioned? I’ve written speeches for them.
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