I am normally a nice person. I swear to you. I say, “Please.” I say, “Thank you.” I say, “I’m sorry.” Even when I don’t need to. Someone hit me in the face with their bag at the airport the other day. I apologized.
I’m nice. Really.
But here’s something I do to annoy people:
People often ask me to guess the amount of something, with the idea that I’ll never be able to guess how low/high the amount is. For example:
OTHER PERSON: Guess how much I paid for these pants! Guess! Guess! Guess! Do it! Now!
In this “hypothetical situation”, they paid very little for these pants, probably like $5 or so. The idea being, they’re very proud of how little they paid. They think they’ve found an unbelievable deal. They think no one in the history of the world has ever found these pants for this cheap.
So they ask you to guess the price, with the notion that you couldn’t possibly guess how little they paid. You couldn’t possibly fathom pants this good at a price this low. There’s no way a number this small would ever even enter your mind when thinking about these pants.
So every time someone asks me something along these lines…I under/overguess. Observe:
OTHER PERSON: I’m so excited! Guess how much I paid for these pants! Guess! Guess! Guess! Do it! Now!
ME: Twenty cents.
OTHER PERSON: (deflated) Wh…no…. No. Five…five bucks, I paid…five bucks. You can’t…get pants for…twenty cents. (sigh)
Observe again:
OTHER PERSON: I’m so excited! We went nuts at the theme park! Nuts! You know the Red Dragon? Guess how many times we rode it! Guess! Guess! Guess! Guess. Guess! GUESS.
ME: Two hundred and three times.
OTHER PERSON: (deflated) What? No… ten. Ten times. Ten times is…that’s…that’s a lot. I don’t…(sigh)
Why do I do this? Why do I rain on parades in this manner? Why does there exist in me some instinct to crush people’s excitement? And why is it only with these number-type questions? Consider the following situation, which would not happen:
OTHER PERSON: I’m so excited! I just got married! I’m so happy! I’m so inflated!
FICTIONAL ME: Most marraiges end in divorce.
OTHER PERSON:(deflated) I’m so deflated. (sigh)
That’s terrible! I don’t do that! But it’s the same damn thing! For some reason, I take the number thing personally. “Your little mind could not possibly comprehend how little I paid for these pants.” “Your feeble intellect is unable to grasp how many times we rode this roller coaster.” It’s an insult to me. And, like a cornered raccoon, I fight back.
I’ll try to stop doing this. But I doubt I’ll be able to. I’m just going to keep being a jerk about it. Everyone will just have to get back at me in their own little ways. You might try hitting me in the face with your Samsonite. It seems to be very therapeutic for some people.