I was sitting in a bar (I assure you it was for medicinal purposes only) and instead if ESPN or some other barish television program it was one of those ‘reality’ shows.
People, if I may, let me explain to you something about television. It’s expensive to produce so they’re not going to leave anything to chance. The people American Pickers cold call are aware of the impending visit; the units people bid on in any of those storage shows has been seeded with awesomeness; you’d be hard pressed to find an actual currently considered star on Dancing With The. To clarify reality shows you must consider I was once recruited to ‘write’ for a ‘reality’ show. So, in closing, reality shows are as real as The Truman Show.
The show being performed in front of us was one of those where you come up with an idea and a bunch of pompous millionaires berate you until one of them steps up and, in the end, steals the idea from you and squeezes you out of the company bankrupting you morally and financially. Oh wait, I mean, helps you fulfill your life long dream.
Sorry, I’ve been known at times to be a touch cynical.
The problem began when the drunken idiots, sorry once again, I mean kindly patrons of this insipid, sorry, I’ll try harder, I mean inspirational boite began formulating their own kazillion dollar ideas. I use the term kazillion because it’s just as realistic as the incredibly idiotic ideas these fine gentlemen and lady were bandying about.
Now I really don’t care what type of conversation people have around me. I might think it’s stupid but if I’m not mired in it very little sludge will get on me. They can be as loud and dumb as the good lord intended but if I’m not involved it’s little more than buzzing in my ears. I’m not a antisocordist who overhears a conversation and becomes indignant because whatever being said is offensive or the people muttering it are little more than dowfarts.
I don’t know what it is but I often find people have the need to engage me in not only ridiculous but many times overly personal conversations. I don’t look friendly, I don’t act friendly, if you don’t believe me ask my friends. But I find there comes a time when people have the need to bring me in to their little sodality.
“Hey,” some guy who, at this moment, is having the longest conversation he’s ever had with me says. “You got any ideas?”
Yes, I think I have many, many ideas. None of them legal and most of them go askew of the teachings of both the King James and whatever the other edition of the bible is called.
I look at the assemblage and think, “Why do I come here?” Then I remember it’s two minutes from work. It doesn’t explain why I stay longer than one bus cycle though. But I forego that self discussion and flaw in my nature to consider his question. Do I have an idea for a product that will render all further conversation with me about this subject unnecessary?
Why yes, I think I do.
I look at these people looking at me and slowly, calmly say,
“I do have a product idea. A Michael J. Fox bobble hand doll.”