In October, 1936, Dale Carnegie's How to Win Friends & Influence People was first published. I have not been working on new projects lately because of my studying, but apropos of Carnegie's classic, I am considering a non-fiction work whose current working title is How to Make Enemies and Completely Shit People.
This new work won't take very long to complete, because the crux of the 'how to' is almost criminal in its simplicity: all you have to do is be a KAREN! I have, to the best of my ability, avoided using this term when referring to whining ignorant malcontents because I know some awesome people with that name. Unfortunately, the term is now used to describe, as previously stated, whining ignorant malcontents, some of whom are imperiously bossy and like to ride roughshod over situations where they should keep their big mouths shut to staunch the flow of whiny bloat.
But I can remain quiet no more.
I have had cause to use the term and it was directed to the complaining and kvetching crosspatch at the adjacent table when I played my weekly trivia game last week. If you follow my blog or know me personally, you will know I am a gun trivia player. No room for false modesty; I am. Every week, I enjoy a night at a local pub in a team with my almost-twenty-year-old son and his friend, who has turned twenty. (On a side note: my kid's about to turn twenty. Bloody hell!). They are fantastic on some of the younger generation's pop culture, as well as science. We have a ball and score well. We are making friends with other regulars, going so far as to have a pre-game meal with another team. We dine as friends and play as rivals. So much fun.
Until this fated evening last week. There was another team of three, comprising women maybe my age or a little younger. They are not regulars, but I have seen them there previously, and I have the graciousness and good sportsmanship to admit they are also good players.
Here are the rules by which the game is conducted: the first-place getters, the second-place getters, and the penultimately placed team have the right to choose a blank envelope for the chance to win a voucher ($50.00, $20.00, or $10.00) to the pub's bistro. In the instance of a tie, a decision is made by rock-paper-scissors between representatives of the tying teams. Last week, there was a tie for first place and a tie for second place. We were in the running for second place, and my son stood to duke it out in rock-paper-scissors. If you're looking for a young man with Rain Man anticipatory skill in rock-paper-scissors, I pushed out his head almost twenty years ago.
Then we heard the whining clarion call of a woman from 'that' team. It was her contention that only the winning teams should draw the envelopes, although she deigned to allow the penultimate team to make their draw. There's no nice way I can put this, except: Fuck off, lady; you didn't write the rules. The hostess was clearly put on the spot because they had already started the stride to the envelopes, like they were racing to the Chanel table at the Myers Boxing Day sale. Then came a catcall from a woman on the table comprising the other second-placers: 'Ya KAREN!' It was followed by someone else: 'Yeah, ya KAREN!'. It kind of reminded me of that scene toward the end of Dangerous Liaisons when Glenn Close, in her role of Marquise de Merteuil, goes to the theatre and is booed by the disapproving patrons, only of course instead of booing, it was 'Ya KARENs'.
I cannot imagine the trepidation and fear that went through the Karen's mind as she drew her envelope. The shooting sharp pains she experienced were from everyone else looking daggers at her. In a stroke of cosmic retribution, she drew the envelope containing the ten-dollar voucher. I will admit to a delicious frisson of schadenfreude.
They were not there the other night. As my son pointed out, they were probably too fearful to come back, knowing they had incurred the utter loathing and contempt of a roomful of serious trivia players (we trivia players might be nerdy, but we are not to be messed with). My son and his friend were chortling, 'Imagine winning, but having everyone in the room hate you, and earning ten dollars for the privilege!'
Yes, I am being a bit catty about this team, but Reader, were you there, you'd likely feel the same.
By the way, we came in equal second again the other night, and my son duked it out in rock-paper-scissors, wherein he beat a twelve-year-old, but at least it was in accordance with the rules. Oh, and we drew the ten-dollar voucher, but we trod on no toes nor tried to introduce out own petty rules in order to do so. We will enjoy our $3.33 each.
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