Its subtle. Its divine. Its rare. And most importantly it works wonders, and you're hardly the prototypical 'obvious' villain in the exchange. At least that's what I tell myself - 'Taking advantage of naive, unsuspecting (often dumb) people to get your way is OKAY'. And that's enough to squash whatever little conscience I have left. Peace! But seriously, don't you think conscience is overrated? I mean what the hell do you get out of it, except maybe earning the 'you're a good man' tag that doesn't really do you any good in the first place. You get laughed at, trampled upon, taken advantage of, every waking hour of every single day and you almost never win anything. So if you ask me, get out there and fight your own battles and fight them dirty, as a wise man once said 'All's fair in love and war'. And in this world its mostly war. And aren't we all headed to hell anyway? Sounds like a really fun place to be!
But I digress. Let's get back to the topic of manipulating naive trusting souls. *rubbing hands in glee*
Here's an exchange I recently had with one of my roommates. Lets call him Bo.
Day 1: I entered the kitchen one evening and found a pile of dishes in the sink, the kind of thing that makes me seethe. The counter-top was a mess, strewn with shells and what looked like octopus tentacles to me, which I later found out to be pork intestines! I'm generally quite accepting of different kinds of food that people are into and I'm sure when cooked, the intestines would turn out to be delicious, but I don't necessarily want them hanging off the oven door for show. Nope. Not having it. But somehow the dirty dishes disturbed me more. There's something about half eaten meals floating in a pool of water that grosses me out. The prospect of having maggots in your house maybe?
Me: Hey Bo! (Trying to be exceedingly sugary) What you cooking?
Bo: Pork. Umm. Ma-ki-ng soup. (Dragging every syllable.Yes. His English is more than stunted.)
Me: Pork Soup? Sounds delicious. What are these? (pointing to the mound of chopped up octopus tentacles. I was convinced it could be nothing else.)
Bo: PORK!! (I could sense from his tone that he was slightly annoyed.)
Me: (Gasping) Are you sure? Isn't it octopus? (Flailing my arms in the air and doing a little bit of a tribal jig, trying to make them look like tentacles, quite unsuccessfully ofcourse. And in case you're wondering that the question was rather dumb and he obviously knew what he was cooking, in my defense, I doubted his limited vocabulary and thought maybe he referred to all kinds of meat as 'pork'. Ahem.)
Bo: NO! Pig.
Me: Got it.
Slightly offended at being cut short this way and determined to finish what I started, I continued.
Me: Bo, the sink is almost overflowing and beginning to stink. I think 'we' should get the dishes done soon. Don't you think? Sometime tonight maybe?
Without a word, Bo quietly proceeded to do his dishes, frantically scraping away at the two week old, dried out gravy clinging to his plates. I barely suppressed a smile, when I saw the sweat on his forehead and defeat in his face. Revenge is sweet.
Day 2: I entered the kitchen the next day and found Bo standing in front of a wok of boiling sesame oil, releasing large chunks of chicken into it, rather ungently. And as expected, with every release, there was a deafening sizzle, a cloud of smoke, and spurts of oil all over the chimney walls, counter-top and the floor. My sandals squeaked as I tried to make my way through the oil puddles. Way to go, Bo! ( and that rhymed! )
Me: Bo, is that chicken you're cooking?
Bo: Yes. Taste? (His face lit up)
Me: (unable to refuse) Sure.
I dipped my spoon in the curry and greedily gulped it down. It was hot and had ten times more spice than I could handle. I almost choked. But a couple of tears escaped me.
Bo: (disappointed by my reaction) No good?
Me: (wiping that treacherous tear) Its great. *cough*
Bo went around his business, with a smile of contentment on his face. I guess I AM a good actor. Recovering from that unprecedented assault on my alimentary canal, I continued with renewed enthusiasm.
Me: The kitchen floor is really dirty. 'We' should clean it up sometime.
Bo runs to the next room, and re-enters a minute later with a mop in his hand. How sweet! But well it's oil. And dry mopping would just end up spreading it uniformly on the kitchen floor, thus laying out an impeccable death trap for all of us. No, thank you. Riding high on my manipulation success rate so far, I continued.
Me: Bo, that won't do any good. You know what 'we' should do? 'We' should get some soap water instead.
Bo: Sorry. Me has assignment. Submit tomorrow. Clean after. Please?
Me: (alarmed at the prospect of having to do it myself) Err.. It wont take too long. Its really easy. Wait.
I ran to the bathroom, fetched some soap water, and came back. Animatedly splashing the mop in it, I continued.
Me: See. Its very easy Bo. Dip it in the water like this. And then take it out and....
Bo: Late. Assignment. Good night.
And before I could say anything more, he fled.
Moral of the story, it doesn't work all the time. But hey, one in two times is not so bad eh? Also, my victim turned out to be smarter than I thought. Maybe you'll have more luck?!
But I digress. Let's get back to the topic of manipulating naive trusting souls. *rubbing hands in glee*
Here's an exchange I recently had with one of my roommates. Lets call him Bo.
Day 1: I entered the kitchen one evening and found a pile of dishes in the sink, the kind of thing that makes me seethe. The counter-top was a mess, strewn with shells and what looked like octopus tentacles to me, which I later found out to be pork intestines! I'm generally quite accepting of different kinds of food that people are into and I'm sure when cooked, the intestines would turn out to be delicious, but I don't necessarily want them hanging off the oven door for show. Nope. Not having it. But somehow the dirty dishes disturbed me more. There's something about half eaten meals floating in a pool of water that grosses me out. The prospect of having maggots in your house maybe?
Me: Hey Bo! (Trying to be exceedingly sugary) What you cooking?
Bo: Pork. Umm. Ma-ki-ng soup. (Dragging every syllable.Yes. His English is more than stunted.)
Me: Pork Soup? Sounds delicious. What are these? (pointing to the mound of chopped up octopus tentacles. I was convinced it could be nothing else.)
Bo: PORK!! (I could sense from his tone that he was slightly annoyed.)
Me: (Gasping) Are you sure? Isn't it octopus? (Flailing my arms in the air and doing a little bit of a tribal jig, trying to make them look like tentacles, quite unsuccessfully ofcourse. And in case you're wondering that the question was rather dumb and he obviously knew what he was cooking, in my defense, I doubted his limited vocabulary and thought maybe he referred to all kinds of meat as 'pork'. Ahem.)
Bo: NO! Pig.
Me: Got it.
Slightly offended at being cut short this way and determined to finish what I started, I continued.
Me: Bo, the sink is almost overflowing and beginning to stink. I think 'we' should get the dishes done soon. Don't you think? Sometime tonight maybe?
Without a word, Bo quietly proceeded to do his dishes, frantically scraping away at the two week old, dried out gravy clinging to his plates. I barely suppressed a smile, when I saw the sweat on his forehead and defeat in his face. Revenge is sweet.
Day 2: I entered the kitchen the next day and found Bo standing in front of a wok of boiling sesame oil, releasing large chunks of chicken into it, rather ungently. And as expected, with every release, there was a deafening sizzle, a cloud of smoke, and spurts of oil all over the chimney walls, counter-top and the floor. My sandals squeaked as I tried to make my way through the oil puddles. Way to go, Bo! ( and that rhymed! )
Me: Bo, is that chicken you're cooking?
Bo: Yes. Taste? (His face lit up)
Me: (unable to refuse) Sure.
I dipped my spoon in the curry and greedily gulped it down. It was hot and had ten times more spice than I could handle. I almost choked. But a couple of tears escaped me.
Bo: (disappointed by my reaction) No good?
Me: (wiping that treacherous tear) Its great. *cough*
Bo went around his business, with a smile of contentment on his face. I guess I AM a good actor. Recovering from that unprecedented assault on my alimentary canal, I continued with renewed enthusiasm.
Me: The kitchen floor is really dirty. 'We' should clean it up sometime.
Bo runs to the next room, and re-enters a minute later with a mop in his hand. How sweet! But well it's oil. And dry mopping would just end up spreading it uniformly on the kitchen floor, thus laying out an impeccable death trap for all of us. No, thank you. Riding high on my manipulation success rate so far, I continued.
Me: Bo, that won't do any good. You know what 'we' should do? 'We' should get some soap water instead.
Bo: Sorry. Me has assignment. Submit tomorrow. Clean after. Please?
Me: (alarmed at the prospect of having to do it myself) Err.. It wont take too long. Its really easy. Wait.
I ran to the bathroom, fetched some soap water, and came back. Animatedly splashing the mop in it, I continued.
Me: See. Its very easy Bo. Dip it in the water like this. And then take it out and....
Bo: Late. Assignment. Good night.
And before I could say anything more, he fled.
Moral of the story, it doesn't work all the time. But hey, one in two times is not so bad eh? Also, my victim turned out to be smarter than I thought. Maybe you'll have more luck?!
You create wonderful visual imagery, even if it means,us having to see octopus/pig carcasses..:D A sugary YOU, had me splattering my juice all over the laptop. I so could SEE you.:D :D Bo boy caught on early though..Write more often man! You are way high on my reading list, so don't be stingy with your sarcasm and words. Keeps the old friend sane!:)
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