A conversation I overheard in the toilette as I waited patiently for the hand-dryer:
Man A:
"Why don't you tell me
all about it?"
Man B:
"There is nothing to tell."
Man A:
"Are you sure you weren't dreaming this time?"
Man B:
"I am never sure anymore. It's hard to explain. I need a
stadium full of about ten thousand people. The stadium is not full,
there is space around the edge of the crowd. I was on the stage, and
everyone can hear me because I have a microphone (that's a little
phone by the way), and it is rigged up to some very large speakers.
Everyone is listening, and glad to listen to me, but was not so
bothered, I just had this sense of duty. I am not nervous when I say to
everyone in the audience: "can everyone here who is usually wrong
please move to the left hand side of the stadium and all those who are
usually right, move to the right hand side. Wrong; left, right; right.
Okay..." and then they all move. Some people remain in the middle,
because they are right about 50% of the time, or simply don't know
whether they are ever wrong right. Maybe to them, it doesn't matter.
Then i ask the guys on the left hand side of the stadium, the wrong
people, "wrong people, can you split yourself into two groups.
Those who would rather live by a lake in the mountains please move to
the back, and those who would rather live in a cottage by the sea move
to the front; towards the stage." the wrong audience do that, with
some murmur of discontent from all those who would rather live in the
city. I then ask the lake/mountain lovers who are usually wrong if they
can split themselves into two groups: (1). those who have cried in the
last month and (2). those who haven't. They oblige. I then split the
criers into another two groups. I tell them i am thinking of a number
and if they think it is odd, move to one side, and those who think it is
even, move to another. Of course it is not long before i have singled
out one particular person, who happens to be a 43 year old woman with
brown hair, who is from Luton, and lives with her boyfriend and her
boyfriend and two kids from her ex-husband. But that is not where i
stop, and soon i have a number of odd groups: people who consider
themselves usually wrong, who would rather live by a lake in the
mountains by a river than a cottage by the sea, who have cried in the
last month, who thought i was thinking of an odd number and who once
helped a lame man. People who have ambivalent feelings regarding whether
they are usually right or wrong, who believe in a god but do not go to a
place of worship on a regular basis, who understand the concept of white
noise, who miss the winter in the summer, more than they miss the summer
in the winter, who have dreamt cricket once and who have never owned a
'welcome' mat. People who consider themselves usually right who
haven't rode a bike for 2 years, who were born in a leap year, who
have poor grips on the trainers they use the most, who are shortsighted,
(either dodgy eyes of have a slightly casual attitude toward the future)
who sleep with the door open (bedroom door) and own a pair of leather
gloves. "it is an emotional time for many of these groups, to be
united with so many of their own kind, without even knowing they had so
much in common, and some of them burst into tears, causing a
re-shuffling of groupings. Some people are on their own, slightly lonely
but with a strong feeling of individuality and independence. There is
some romance and there are some fights between opposing groups. Why
can't they get along – the people who remember that episode of
neighbours where Jim died and those who didn't?"
Man A:
"i'm not sure. You know i don't think that was a dream, i
read something about it in the newspaper."
Man B:
"are you okay?"
Man A:
"i feel as though someone has walked over my grave..."
Man B:
"that's impossible; you're not dead."
Man A:
"i am talking about Catherine. They is nothing i can do. it is so
ironic..."
Man B:
"funny ironic?"
Man A:
"no serious and bewildering irony, not unentirely unlike that of my
dog's mouth."
Man B:
"'Not Unentirely Unlike'. That means not similar to,
doesn't it?"
Man A:
"does it? That's not what i meant. I meant it isn't not
unentirely unlike my dog's mouth. How come he can engulf any object
that he chooses in his mouth and then reject it when you've been
looking for it for such along time that you are angry. The dog can be
blamed for the chew marks and the saliva, but not for how late he has
made you for the train that you needed the tickets for in the first
place. Though i have my suspicions. It can also re-cement pills the vet
gave us"
Man B:
"what can?"
Man A:
"the dog's mouth. Don't ask me how."
Man B:
"why?"
Man A:
"no, i said don't ask me how. I just know that you
feed him a pill, crushed into powder, mixed thoroughly into the dog
food. The dog takes his usual twenty-eight seconds to eat the food with
that tongue of unknown size and strength and huge black gums, leaving
his aluminium bowl polished perfectly. On closer inspection, you notice
that, he has left a single pink pill at the side of the bowl, in tact
and glistening with a thin layer of dog saliva."
Man B:
"i'm glad you told me; but here is no concorde flights now.
Have you thought of a story to tell yet?"
Man A:
"no. Hey do you think this guys has been drying his hands for so
long for. Hey mister! Your hands are dry. Damn dry handed
obsessives."
end