Ooh, we’re in the final countdown now (cue music).
Here is a fun story with a hidden teaser message:
Last night I ate dinner at Joe’s Steakhouse. Darn good, by the way. I got the french dip. Oh, so tender you’d think you were eating some kind of animal’s flesh! Delicious! Really, really good. Recommended!
Anyway, our server1 was a nice young woman by the name of I didn’t catch her name. But I think my point was that I was being very funny that night, and when I’m very funny, it’s nice to get the right amount of appreciation. No one knows how much is the right amount except for me and I can’t explain it. Still, I’ll try. Because you see, she had the right amount of appreciation.
For example, my friend Antilabs had told me the onion rings were good there, so when I ordered my sandwich, I asked for onion rings as the side dish2.
I said something like, “Would it be possible to get that with onion rings?… I’ve heard great things…”
Then she said, “About the onion rings?”
And I said, “No, I just mean I’ve heard great things …”
Then came the cool part. She just sort of acknowledged my comment with a smile and asked the next person what he wanted to order. It was so cool. (Everyone else at the table laughed, of course, because they know good comedy when they hear it.)
The reason this chick’s response was so perfect is because of its understatedness. The other options were for her to be confused (which would be understandable) and say “huh?” and look to my companions for an explanation of this dumb guy sitting with them. Or, she could have tried to make a witty comeback, “calling me out”, as a lot of folks try to do these days. One-up-manship, I believe it’s called but not spelled. But that would have been precisely the wrong thing to do. Even if she came up with some scathingly brilliant remark, it would have fallen flat (to the educated observer) because you can’t rebut nonsense. What I said was just stupid. There’s no witty retort for stupid (and saying “You’re stupid” isn’t witty; it’s just mean). Her reaction was perfect.
You don’t get it, because it cannot be described. But trust me. Similar ineffable incidents occurred, resulting in—by the end of the night—me falling in love with this server. Luckily, I had given my solar-powered friend a “This Is Conlan” wearable button earlier in the evening. So I ripped it off his shirt to leave along with the tip. Antilabs insisted I leave my business card too, which didn’t seem as cool and mysterious to me, but I obliged, not wanting to seem ungrateful.
And so that’s it. Dumb story, right? Well, less than a week until you’ll be able to read more like it right here at good ol’ This Is Conlan dot com, home of This Is Conlan, the internet weblog of Conlan (which This is).
Please don’t get swine flu.