if do right, no can defense

if do right, no can defense

Today was MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKER DAY and employees partout slouched in their seats, perfect props for a 1970s commercial where an oversized vegetable pops in through a magical cloud of smoke convincing them of the restorative powers of breakfast cereal.

Having hired these easily excitable Stephen Douglasi in the past, I maintain a 7-year immunity to their wile and charm, but easily fall victim to their analogies and puns, high fives and dreadfully inappropriate belly bumps. ‘Raise not the roof,’ he says, to a smattering of applause, ‘without first elevating yourself,’ to a bit of perplexity. And then hesitant applause. I look at those clapping hands and see the extinguishing fires of their erstwhile passion, and think, ‘Go on now. Stamp it out.’ In the final throes, these will be the people whose entire Wednesday flashes in front of them. ‘It was spiritual. Noon to 4:30 flashed before my eyes,’ says those revived by lackadaisical CPR. Pre-cordial thumps, for the most part.

It was suddenly then that I realized I have a sort of 6th sense, an ability to see the ridiculousness of any situation, and while everyone around me stood and applauded, I applauded, too, but I was applauding MYSELF, and for a brief moment it seemed that I could see cartoon dialogue bubbles form above each person’s head, and in each caption I read, ‘THIS ONE’S FOR YOU, DUCKLET.’ And then I shed a tear for all the children who would never grow up to be ME. Because, surely it must be disappointing. I cannot be motivated.

My talent lies in shutting down, just when things look promising, stemming the rose of achievement well ahead of the emerging blossom, and sometimes flat out leaving the roots to dry too long in the burlap sack, but then planting the skeletal remains. “It looks like a sculpture,” I said once. “We should have it lacquered, so that it will last.”

And never bloom, I might have added.

A year later, I have a full can of Minwax sitting in the garage. Several, if you want to be nitpicky.

“When life hands you lemons,” he begins, but by then my eyes are glazed over, my head filled with a vivid memory of what I had for lunch.