Today’s post comes from a generic person all the way across the country. Given that the majority of my readers live in Utah, I doubt that none of you will know whom this generic person, or rather generic crowd is. Give me a paragraph or two to paint the picture for you.
There is a group of nonspecific acquaintances and/or friends who hold a weekly potluck every Sunday afternoon following a non-denominational religious festival or service. Oh the joys they have had conversing with one another about the daily activities and events that have occurred in each one of their vague lives. Oh, the camaraderie and interpersonal bonding they have had. Truly, this is a tradition that they will enjoy.
Enter stage right a screwed up variable who only wishes to make things difficult for all of them. This variable somehow overheard about the get together through a friend of a friend of a friend. This variable epitomizes the words “awkward” and “uncomfortable”. This variable doesn’t have any Myspace friends. Come on now, that’s saying something if even Tom won’t like the variable.
Right from the initial entrance one fateful afternoon, the variable makes things unpleasant to everyone around. Saying uncomfortable questions and statements, invading the other potlucker’s privacy, heck, the variable didn’t even bring food to a potluck, that defeats the purpose from the start. The words that escape from his mouth are the straws that break this camel’s back.
Vance the Variable: “So have any of you seen that new porno starring Kirstie Alley?”
Cue awkward silence.
Vance the Variable: “Do you guys want to hear a dead baby joke?”
Cue awkward silence.
Vance the Variable: “And that’s why the doctor upped my dosage of Viagra.”
Cue vomiting into paper brown bags followed by awkward silence.
The emotional and physical hushing was so loud that it caused many of the potluck patrons to just up and leave. Never mind the bonding, the sharing of experiences, the taking out of goofy family photos and bragging about their son’s first soccer goal the day prior, all they wanted to do was go home, take a bath in Listerine, scrub themselves of all of Vance the Variable’s disgusting personality and donate money to a local charity.
A week later Vance the Variable stumbled into the potluck half-sober with a flask of rum sticking out of his back pocket and the potluck was over even before it had started. Everyone was running back to their houses with their tubs already lined with plastic lining, %100 alcohol, and vinegar.
Due to Vance the Variable’s inappropriate and rude behavior, the potluck that this generic gang had been so thoroughly enjoying was cancelled for the next week. And the week after that. And the week after that. Vance the Variable had had such a negative influence on all of them, that their continued friendship and joyous meeting and eating was flushed down the toilet for good. And all because of a handful of dead baby jokes.
Given the circumstances, I pose the question to you again my dear readers. Is the destruction of a dedicated festival because of a perverted erectile-defunct moron the right thing to do? Should boundaries have to be crossed in order for someone to enjoy the company of others? Or is the awkward-silence enhancer out of bounds for his pushing the envelope conversation that he mainly had with himself? May I toss out the phrase that defines this week of ethics:
You be the judge.
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