Counterfeit Humans

I failed the bar exam my first try. I mistakenly thought I was such a genius, I didn’t need to study. Plus, I was paranoid that some undeserving law student would slip in and takeover my first real, highly important and much coveted job in the movie industry if I took time off to study.

I worked for a company boasting a solid group of Stanford Law School graduates who were oh-how-they-knew-it smart. I’d attended a small, private law school. I felt not so smart. The very day the bar exam results were unveiled, this is what I heard in the company conference room, when all were present, coming from a nasally, whiny voice befitting a dwarfish, three legged, blind rat with a cane, dark shades and thinning fur, limping around in search of her next morsel. The voice, if one can call it that, was completely devoid of warmth or charm, and belonged to a witchy attorney, Rodent, Rhoda, who was one of the Stanford grads (no, I am not bitter),

“So. Did you pass?”

I considered raising my dejected self up and lying through my clenched teeth, but I couldn’t do it. I blurted out the truth to which she responded with a hideous, I-knew-it smile.

I received many apologies for Rhoda’s behavior that day, from all the attorneys except Rhoda. I did pass the exam the second time after I took a short leave and was promised by my angelic boss that she would place her foot in the door until my return.

Revenge came later when two very agreeable, pleasant lawyers (not an oxymoron) and myself went to an ultra hip restaurant for lunch, as entertainment attorneys are wont to do now and then. Rhoda, at the last minute, invited herself to tag along. As you may imagine, inviting herself was Rhoda’s only means of leaving the office now and then, short of business meetings when her presence was absolutely required. At twenty-seven, Rhoda was only a year or so older than the rest of us, but you’d never know it. I don’t want to say that she was unattractive, because it was more than that. Misery, greed, selfishness and unbridled ambition can twist around a person’s features.

Rhoda may have made a point of using me as her subject of humiliation, but on our lunch day, it was her turn. And I didn’t lift a finger or say a word.  While the rest of us were carded as we entered the restaurant (you ladies out there can especially appreciate the significance of this small, but enormously complimentary action), the Maitre d’ told Rhoda that he didn’t need to see her ID. She was obviously older than the rest of us. Rhoda was none too happy.

Don’t believe for a minute that stupers ever get away with their sometimes cruel and always idiotic deeds and words. It always returns to hit them smack in the back of the head.  The proper response to insulting stupidity depends on you. If you should offer an insult in exchange for one, how would it make you feel afterward? Small, like your head is where your ankles used to be? In that case, an insult is not in order. However, if you feel the insult will put a stop to future acts of stupidity or possibly jolt the dolt into thinking, then by all means, indulge.

We shouldn’t expect too much from the meager mind. In fact, we shouldn’t expect anything. This would make it far easier to accept the presence of stupidity.

Keep thinking.

Keli
Keli@counterfeithumans.com

 Gatherings where large groups of people are present often prove fertile grounds for stupidity. Intermingling with idiots is virtually guaranteed in these settings. If stupers (short, as most of you know, for unaccountably stupid persons) even remotely detect the presence of a captive audience, watch out! They will blurt out particularly ridiculous and rude remarks to quench their insatiable thirst for attention. Captive audiences = stuper heaven, which means the rest of us may be placed in a holding cell in purgatory while the idiot is yammering.

My pal, Calvin, recently joined a Rotary Club that presents weekly guest speakers who offer enlightened talks on topics ranging from Hypnotherapy to Cuts of Meat. Last week’s speaker was Henrik, owner of a tattoo parlor as well as human exhibitor of multiple tattoos. Calvin stated,

“I’m not into tattoos myself, but I was pleasantly surprised at how well-spoken, poised and intelligent Henrik was. He told us about the history of tattoos and explained their place in the military, saying that soldiers traditionally wore tattoos to deflect the element of fear and show their toughness.  After Henrik finished talking, an audience member stood up and said, quite pompously, ‘No disrespect intended, but disfiguring your body is going against God’s will. We’re on a slippery slope today as it is. Morality is shot; no one takes responsibility. In my day, the only ones with tattoos were pimps, whores and sailors.’  There was total silence afterward. Then Henrik responded, ‘I’m a veteran of the Marines, I’m a patriot and I agree about the slippery slope. But I’m not here to promote or speak against tattoos. I’m just providing information.’  Henrik looked really uncomfortable. Don’t you think the guy who slammed Henrik was a stuper?”

When a stuper starts out with, “No disrespect intended,” rest assured four freight trains full of disrespect are rapidly plunging your way.  It’s best to hurl yourself into the nearest clump of thorn-free bushes. And lumping sailors with pimps and whores is like categorizing aspirin with heroin and cocaine. Please. Stupers with opinions can be hazardous.

Calvin informed me that there was more to the story.

“After Henrik finished speaking, another audience member, Rose, got up. She said she didn’t have any tattoos and always advised her kids against getting any. But she said that after her Pappy (Dad) died, her twenty-year-old got a tattoo ‘in loving memory of Pappy.’ Rose said, ‘I am completely against tattoos, and I told my son not to ever do it again. But really, my son is happy and he’s not a bad kid. I think there are more important things to attend to, like making sure our children know how much we love them. Who are we to say what others should do?’   I felt the same as Rose. After all, it’s not like Henrik was promoting Nazism. He wasn’t promoting anything.  And it wasn’t like Henrik was speaking before an impressionable audience. Plus, he was our guest!”

There are always going to be people who present disagreeable opinions. It’s okay to assert yourself, but not in an abrasive manner. We should be able to stomach an afternoon of strong coffee when invited to do so, and if we feel we must make our opinions known, it’s best to do so privately and courteously.

Making compromises and adjustments is part of reality. Expending precious mental energy on negativity and criticism is draining and prevents us from focusing on the more important aspects of life. Stupers lollygag, fiddling with their minds with nonexistent or dwindling dedication. To maintain sanity when faced with the stupid among us, we must fortify our thinking with positive thoughts.

Your greatest secret weapon is your mind.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

I’ve agreed to assist a class AAA, advanced stuper (short as you may guess, for an abominably absurd and asinine stupid person) only if he publicly declares his stupidity right here on my blog. He is a golf dad I see now and then who has a tendency to speak in rapid, run-on sentences for as long as thirty-three minutes, barely taking a breath, and blurting out ridiculous statements with the convoluted aim of a dysfunctional machine gun, startling and offending all within a ten foot range. His e-mail has been edited greatly. Here goes:

Dear Keli:

My name is Bertram Weidermeyer, and I am a recovering stuper, at least since last week. Okay, two days ago. So maybe it was this morning. You gotta believe me, I didn’t mean anything when I told the chubby kid on the driving range that he’d put on too much weight and should look into Sumo wrestling instead of golf. I quickly caught myself and told him I meant it in a good way.

I know. I like to talk, but it’s the New Yorker in me. What I said to the older kid on the putting green about his game being way better in the past, I meant that he probably still could get a golf scholarship to a college in Kalamazoo or Fargo. And when I asked Coach’s wife if she had a good time at her fortieth birthday party, how was I supposed to know she’d just turned thirty? Weren’t you flattered when I told you you’re pretty smart for a woman? Now stop practicing those Tae Kwon Do moves you’ve learned on me!

I promise will try not to act like a stuper, at least for a whole day. Or an afternoon or something. I can do it. Really I can. But I’m pretty sure I’m not even all that stupid. If at all.

Regards,

Bert

Denial may be a good thing, as it means that a stuper is possibly exercising thought. But Bert is unfortunately delusional in stating the possibility of his not being an idiot, which makes him denusional.

I cannot recall ever seeing Bert’s mouth closed for longer than a few moments during daylight hours. Thankfully, I’ve never shared his company pre dawn or post dusk. He is indeed a walking stupidity time bomb. I can practically hear him ticking when he’s quiet for a second or two. I’ve heard his wife wears earplugs at night. But I’m not here to criticize. I told Bert I’d try to help him and would start talking to him again and stop using him for my Tae Kwon Do dummy if he took my suggestions.

I met Bert four summers ago. The first year, I tolerated him; summer #2, I ignored him. The following summer, I threw him dagger-like looks and, if he dared approach me, open-mouthed, I made sounds, mimicking the Madagascar Hissing Cockroach which my younger son had thoroughly studied in Biology that year. By this summer, I’d taken to practicing round-house kicks over his head, as well landing the reverse spinning hook kick to his backside any time he approached a youngster to make a pronouncement. Needless to say, I’m close to getting my black belt, thanks to Bert.

Another parent suggested he talk to me about his stupidity problem. Bert asked for my help. Hence, the e-mail.

For Bert and anyone who equates speaking without thinking on par with breathing: take careful note of what you are saying. Think about your words before you hurl them out of your mouth. Think before you speak simply means to slow the rate of talk so you know your own thought before it’s expressed. Whoa! How novel is that?

Thoughts controlled mean words controlled. The tongue is supposed to be your servant, not vice versa; it should be incapable of running off on its own. To do this, Bert must engage in quiet time, daily. He must give himself time-outs and keep his mouth closed. It’s okay to start out with five minutes, twice a day. Then extend the time.

I’ve found Bert a partner to help him with his daily quiet time. Remember the Sumo wrestler kid Bert befriended on the driving range? He’s agreed to stay on top of Bert.

Just think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Some of us have developed the habit of completing another’s thought during a conversation by finishing the sentence for him/her. Although this is not a telltale sign of stupidity, it is an indicator of impatience and an attempt to rush the speaker along.

I’d like to share this letter with readers:

Dear Keli,

I am thirty-four years old and consider myself intelligent and a good listener. But I have a quirk that I think makes me look like a stuper. I have a tendency to finish other people’s sentences for them. I never noticed it until I sat in the doctor’s office. I finished a couple of Dr. M’s sentences for him, and he nearly had a fit. You see, I’d finished them all wrong. He practically blew up. He told me to stop it, or he would stop treating me.

That was two days ago. I haven’t spoken a word out loud since. I’m scared that I will try to finish other people’s sentences. This problem is not big enough to see a shrink about (at least I hope not). What should I do?

Somewhat Out-of Control in Leawood, Kansas

First of all, for new readers, I’d like to point out that stuper is short for an obviously stupid person. Here is my response:

Dear Somewhat:

I have good news: finishing other’s sentences is a simple habit, easy to break, and not stupidity. I’ve done it myself in the past, thinking it demonstrated understanding and support of the speaker. Not necessarily so. It can be annoying when the sentence is completed wrong.

If you should find yourself about to finish a sentence for another, start counting instead. Not out loud, but silently. Count to six, making sure you allow the speaker to continue. Holding your breath during the count is not necessary.

You may believe that finishing another’s sentence shows interest in what some one is saying. And you may wonder, how else can I show this? Come up with comments or questions to ask once the talk is done. Also, you may knit your brows during the conversation to indicate presence of thought; smile, nod, or frown at appropriate times to demonstrate active listening skills. These simple techniques will keep conversations flowing.

Take time to think.

Keli
Keli@Counterfeithumans.com