exceptionally pointless story

(originally posted 9/26/2012… unfortunately)

Today I would like to talk about language. More specifically the words we use to communicate. For example, if I were unsuccessfully fishing at noon on a cloudless day and another angler walked by and asked how I was doing I could answer “Not well. I guess the fish don’t like the bright sunshine.” By saying that I am telling him that it is my opinion that my lack of success could be linked with the lack of cloud cover. Now on the other hand if I had replied “Not well. Apparently fish don’t like the bright sunshine” I would be telling him that the fish don’t like the bright sunshine and if he harbored any other opinion then he is a retard.

See how by using italics on the word any I made the sentence funnier? Also, I won’t apologize for using the word retard. It is the definition of someone with an IQ under 70 and until recently was a perfectly acceptable thing to say.

See how by using italics on the word perfectly I didn’t make the sentence funnier in the least and by using italics on the word word I made this sentence harder to understand? If I had gone with italicizing didn’t in the previous sentence you would now be smiling broadly… or at the very least smirking.

Exactly.

So back to fishing. When I was in middle school I remember fishing and having two bullies stumble upon me and how they ended up throwing me in the lake because earlier I had encountered one of their younger brothers who had continued to cast his line across mine until I was forced to move to a different location. Obviously you are bewildered as to why this offense would lead to me being hurled into the lake so you can imagine my chagrin. Ironically it was a very sunny day and the fish had not been biting but I can’t pretend that this was intended to move the story along. I was going to say that as far as communication goes it was an interesting example of how what is said is almost irrelevant compared to what is done. In order to save some face I recall standing in the waist deep and taunting them that they were “real tough on dry land” and even splashing them a little until I feared they would toss my tacklebox into the lake with me. It did not come off as tough because all the relevant information had been communicated with the simple act of flinging me into the lake.

I felt retarded standing there waiting for them to leave. This is no disrespect to those with learning disabilities, only that I felt for those few minutes like my IQ was below 70. This does bring up the question whether or not they were heartless enough to have thrown me into the lake if I was actually retarded. Or, better yet, if the younger brother was retarded and that’s why he kept snagging my line with his errant casts.

If that was the case it might have led to the following exchange had the bullies asked my how the fishing was. I might have responded “Not well. I was forced to move from a better spot because some retard kept casting over my line.” Then I could understand, once it was made clear that the retard in question was related to one of the bullies, why they would chuck me into the drink. I would have felt deserving of the aquatic incident and been ok with it. Instead I was left soggy and bewildered.

It’s all about communication.

As it turns out I saw one of the bullies years later when I was visiting my hometown. He was working at a bookstore in a mall and as I turned the corner I saw him on his knees placing some new arrivals on a shelf. Behind him was the entrance to the store and right outside the store was an enormous fountain. I offer the next information purely to keep the story accurate and in no way to make myself look good or tough or anything else. Since the incident in middle school I had grown at least a foot and he had not grown an inch. In fact, it appeared that years in the employment of a mall bookstore had actually shrunk him an inch.

I stood there looking at him and wondering if I could grab him and throw him in the fountain before mall security could intervene.

Unfortunately I never got the opportunity because some retard tried to walk out of the store with a book he hadn’t paid for and set off the alarm and my former tormentor went springing after him. Before I could put my grabbing and hurling plan into action my intended quarry was preoccupied and surrounded by rent-a-cops.

No matter. I felt vindicated knowing that while he is a lowly stock boy at a mall bookstore back home I am an assistant manager at an American Eagle Outfitters at the mall.

Much cooler.

Does that sounded retarded?