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