Third Short Story. Assignment: Unreliable Narrator
“I don’t like it and I’ll tell you why I don’t like it! They come in, they remove what’s working, and they destroy the lives of everyone near and far. Details? Details! Always asking for details! There’s no need for details because it’s as plain as the sun rising and as clear as a glass of water.” Wow, I can’t believe I was yelling. And those comparisons – it’s as if I never had a proper education. The worst part is that I’m just indulging my own fantasies and thirst for fame. Don’t get me wrong, I love being heard and I love tearing someone apart while being heard. The Germans have a word for pleasure taken from the misfortune of others, I believe it’s “schaudenfroode” or something like that. Ugh, this other guy is still speaking, but I suppose for a balanced exchange of ideas I have to listen.
When he finished, I started in on him with the deathblows: it was over before it even started. I had shut him off, quite literally. It’s no wonder people listen to me; I shape ideals and shine as a beacon for coalitions of thought and prosperity. I just wish I could see more faces when I speak – right now there are only the ones right in front of me. Some of them are smiling, some look disinterested, some seem unha – and some seem Brittany. She’s the new intern, and I would not mind showing her the ropes around here some time. Jesus, did I just wink? People can see me!
“Doctor, I’m not sure where you’re coming from or where you get your facts, but I could not disagree with them more. How can you sit there and tell me that my logic is not completely unflawed? There are right ways to live and work and act and speak and there are wrong ways to do all of those things, as well. In a recent study by the New…” This poor bastard had no chance. He had no idea what he signed on for by agreeing to speak with me. He wasn’t the only one either; I was on a real roll this week. Maybe that luck might enhance my why-sir-you-were-very-good-today chat with Brittany later. An older, gentlemanly, and distinguished smile met by a flip of the hair segues into – “In any event, they can’t take care of themselves, but that doesn’t mean that I should be responsible for them. Does it? I think not, sir.”
“Well, I think you’re only looking at it from one side, Joe. When you only limit yourself to sources out of the blah blech blup blorp yada yada…” I had to cut him off because he was beginning to drone on and on and on. If I have to go home to my wife, why should I have to hear it that dreck at work?
“Well, it was nice having you on, but I see that we’re out of time. Thanks for coming on the show, doctor.” That man is perfectly insufferable. Okay, okay. Stack some papers, smile broadly (but not too high with the chin, that makeup girl did a real number on my neck tan line), and prepare for the curtain. I truly can appreciate how a thespian must feel at the helm of a great stage or an esteemed maestro leading an ensemble into the storm of applause in an opera house. Except, I have the glint of cameras and the glow of green screens. Maybe I’m carrying this smile to long as the musical interlude, but it’s my choice and I get paid and broadcasted for choice words and opinions. And my opinions matter, dammit! At least that’s what the market shares say, and if the dolts keep watching then I’ll keep talking. The truth is, I really only agree with half –
“Well audience, thank you for patronage and patriotism. I’m Joe Fincher and this has been Political Sense on ANC, and remember: It’s only your America if you let it be.”
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