I decided to play golf with some uptight people from work yesterday. They are so uptight, that when I talk to them, I can sense them shutting-down like clams. They think they are doing me a favor. I know these types, and people can’t stand to be around them, but I’m curious. What is life like to be a clam?
It takes time to get to know them, as you jump through their hoops to gain their approval. You have to be an anthropologist and speak their lingo, to put them at ease. Don’t say the wrong things, and don’t give your personal opinions. It feels like your oxygen is being shut off, so you need to find a different source that will keep you alive in the meantime. They will try to understand your psychology and shame you, which is to be expected. They don’t give up anything real about themselves. Their questions always begin like this…
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I have a sister.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s a manager.”
“Is she married?”
“She has dogs.”
I have always thought of myself as a conservative, but maybe I’m not. Maybe, I’m not anything like these people, but the fact of the matter is, I’m interested…
We ran into a couple of buddies of mine on the golf course. They were plowed and having a great time. They remind me of a couple of Irishmen, old, short, and full of magic. Golf is their game, where they can be free.
“What’s wrong with the guys you’re playing with?” Frank asked.
“I’m trying to figure that out,” I whispered.
“Why don’t you play golf with us?”
“Oh, I will…I will…but not today.”
We played until we ran into a guy who was even more interesting.
“Can I join you gentlemen?” He asked.
“Sure!” I said. “I remember you.”
“Oh, that’s right. We played together last summer.”
He teed-off and laughed, 6 feet 5, greasy-black hair, tiny legs and a massive torso. “Man, I need to get high!”
He started eating mushrooms, and washed them down with beer. “Look at my legs…look at my legs. I’ve had eight surgeries! Played football in college. You know, I want to get my son a scooter. He got into an accident, so I got him a scooter. Say… do you have kids?”
He wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to my co-worker. They were of similar age.
“I have a boy and a girl.”
“Ahh, there’s nothing like when they call you daddy.”
I could tell the guy was tripping out. I felt viscerally repulsed being in the company of my co-workers, and the guy on acid was starting to have a bad trip.
“You know, I feel like you guys are dead or something. I need to get away from you.”
I understood what he was feeling. He left. Maybe there is nothing to be learned. We should go with our gut. We don’t need to take psychedelics.