My Man, Guilt

Okay, so there's this guy named Guilt. I keep him on my payroll. Most of the time he doesn't have to do much. He just sits there and waits. But when the right time comes, he steps in and we have a brief conversation. They usually go something like this:

GUILT: Hey, what's up, man?
ME: Nothing. Just, you know, hanging out.
GUILT: Cool… cool.
[a moment]
GUILT: So, uh, I see you're talking to [NAME] a lot tonight.
ME: Yeah.
GUILT: I was just thinking, just sitting over there thinking, and I… you remember that time in 6th grade when you changed your social studies grade on your report card?
ME: Uh, yeah.
GUILT: I was just trying to remember was that, um, was that an honest thing to do or a dishonest thing to do?
ME: It… uh, it… it was a dishonest thing to do.
GUILT: Right, right… dishonest. I was just sitting over there and couldn't remember so I thought I'd come over and ask. Well, okay then, I see she's coming back so you better get back to talking.
ME: Yeah, huh... I guess, um, you know what? I don't really feel like talking to her anymore. I think I'm gonna cut this short... or at least change the topic.
GUILT: Hey, cool, whatever you wanna do, man. I'll be over here if you need me.

Guilt is really good at his job.
Unfortunately, however, I'm finding that our conversations are becoming less and less about the time I changed a C- to a C+ and more and more about the time(s) I changed "I like your legs and/or facial bone structure" to "I like you as a person and wanna play 'special friends'". In addition to this troubling fact, I'm also finding that Guilt has a few nemeses. I remember the night I found out that red shoes paired with a certain haircut can render his conversations ineffective. I remember the night I found out that a certain shade of red hair joined with a specific rear and breast shape can allow me to tune him out completely. And I most recently found out that Guilt is very hard to hear over the riotous roar of a nurse's outfit, red lipstick and an exquisitely symmetrical face.

I'm thinking of docking his pay. I mean, clearly he's not trying hard enough. Had he shouted a little louder I may've been able to discern his voice above the clamor created by superb hips and arresting eyes… in fact, come to think of it, he could see I was being arrested! Why didn't he run over and distract those eyes so I could sneak out of the handcuffs? Or, at the very least, rammed the cruiser before those cheekbones could haul me into the station?

I suppose it's possible that the problem isn't him not trying hard enough, but rather me not wanting to hear him. However, that possibility makes me uncomfortable. I think I'd rather just withhold some of his wages so I can continue to feel superior. But I'll wait a little while before I make my final decision. What's a guy to do?
Originally Printed on 11/1/05
Fire Off A Comment


J.J. Oblivian
Los Angeles, CA

I'm in a gang
called California.

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