By The Numbers

The site of pre-meal generally results in reflexive trepidation, as I analyze the conglomeration of shit they dump into a 3’x1’ stainless steel bin. It usually takes a skinny, white-boy such as myself a solid three weeks at a new job before my gastrointestinal tract no longer screams mercy fifteen minutes after ingesting the culinary delicacies of the Mexican mafia.

Today I was greeted to a simple surprise. Cheeseburgers and cut potato fries. “Can’t fuck that up,” I thought to myself.

Pre-meal at my current job has become my last bastion of solitude. I take those precious thirty minutes of daily freedom by sitting at the bar, silently enjoying my current book and praying I can drown out my co-workers’ verbal diarrhea with my Ipod.

Generally it would take me a couple months to become completely disinterested in my team, but this group has the collective flair of air caught in a mason jar.

I never knew it was humanly possible to put together such a colorless ensemble of individuals so deeply engrossed in a “career” going nowhere. I have never had a problem “initially” relating to people. I have enough collected interests to be able to converse with just about anyone when we first meet. Ooooh , but not this group. Recently overheard pre-meal topics consisted of: “the best way to hold each type of stemware when polishing,” and “strategies to selling the tasting menu to our guests.”

My stare of contempt could burn holes through their retinas, but they would never know because the staff here doesn’t make eye contact with anyone except their tables. I have been searching for the EZT machine in the storage room, but have yet to uncover it. Three weeks of employment and I have formally shaken hands with about 20% of the staff.

So imagine my surprise on burger day to see a full bar of individuals inhaling their chow while talking about LeBron, Kobe, and the NBA playoffs. The ringleader of the conversation is well…I don’t know who he is…I think he’s a host, but he’s usually too busy looking in the mirror or posturing to seat a table or introduce himself. It’s as if one mixed one part Derek Zoolander with one part Alexis Meads’ assistant Nick, on Ugly Betty- So I’ll call him Dick). I was considering interjecting my thoughts on their disparaging analysis of Kobe’s level of excellence when Dick quickly shifted the topic off of Kobe to what could be classified as my interpretation of “The Chaos Theory.”

“Ok guys…Robert Horry…first ballet Hall of Famer?”

When I was a teenager I quite often listened to sports radio. Every so often individuals would call up proposing a trade somewhere along the lines of Team X’s best player for their favorite pair of underwear and a bag of Cheetos. These callers were 100% convinced that their offer was not only fair but almost “too good” for the other team to pass up. I believe these statements where the foundation for my whole-hearted endorsement of euthanasia, abortions and population control. Their general disconnect from reality and lack of tangible knowledge made me fear for the future of man.

Robert Horry, 6’10” power forward from the University of Alabama- Recognized as “Big Shot Bob” for his many clutch baskets as part of six NBA championships teams during his career. Big Shot Bob who averaged 3.9 points per game this year! A man who has not averaged double-digit points a game in any season since the current presidents father was running the country! Big Shot Bob…Hall of Fame...are you FUCKIN SERIOUS!!!

Simply expecting the crowd to silence Dick with similar sentiments, my burger dropped out of my mouth like a Kobayashi glass in the Usual Suspects.

“Oh totally,” shouted Sheep #1.

“Best clutch shooter of all-time,” exclaimed Tweedle-dee.

“Maybe not first ballot,” Beavis proclaimed. “However, definitely second or third ballot for sure!”

As I directed my mind to venture to my happy place to protect my sanity and my self-loathing job, I was interrupted by yet another quality Dick statement trying to rationalize Beavis’s lack of belief in 1st-ballot Horry credentials.

“I mean, I know the guys ONLY BEEN AN ALL-STAR FOUR- TIMES, Dick recites nonchalantly, but he IS the greatest shooter of all-time!”

And so goes what has been my life’s dilemma.

ROBERT HORRY HAS NEVER BEEN AN ALL-STAR!
NOT ONCE!
NOT EVEN CLOSE!
NEVER!

Robert Horry is a GREAT ROLE PLAYER!
A GREAT TEAMMATE!
CLUTCH!
A WINNER!
BUT ROBERT HORRY IS NOT A HALL OF FAMER!

So I have a choice. Do I sit quietly and listen to his mini-cyclone of nonsense and misinformation? Or do I interject my comments, whereby blowing up Dick’s circle jerk?

You may be thinking, why do you care so much? The answer is far too simple yet way too complex. I was in the bookstore the other day when I opened up Time magazine. They have a section in the opening pages next to the political cartoons where we are given some statistics and numbers for thought. One such peccadillo was, “69% of the country can name the current Vice President.”

There are moments when I think, “why does anybody try to save mankind when mankind doesn’t even care enough to know why it needs to be saved.”

One out of three can’t name the MAN BEHIND THE MAN!

So if 1 out of 3 can’t name the vice-president, I contend that 4 out of 5 dipshits believe Robert Horry is a legitimate, first-ballot, Hall of Famer!

"Let the disinformation continue on all fronts," I contend to my polar self.

Shooting up from my seat, I say nothing and head to the bathroom.

I think this food is making me sick.