I have a friend – let’s call him ‘Jim’ – who never, ever gives a straightforward answer to any question. Regardless of how many times and how many ways I rephrase a question posed to him, I do not get a satisfactory reply.
Now I could understand his reluctance to respond if my questions were of a sensitive nature – “Please tell me all the intimate details of your difficult sex life” – for which I would, understandably, be rebuked by being told that that is none of my business.
I could also understand his hesitancy to admit that he did not know the answer to a question:
- Me: “What exactly happened that caused your oven to explode?”
- Jim: “Well, you have to understand that ovens are complex…”
I could even understand that he might be long-winded and needs a long time to wind up before throwing the delivery pitch that answers the question:
- Me: “How did you end up in Malta when your vacation was supposed to go to Japan?”
- Jim: “First of all, let me start by describing my previous three vacations …”
But, since NO question comes with a direct answer, much less a satisfactory answer, I suspect that my friend – ‘Jim’ – is a practiced professional in the art of purposeful obfuscation. I pose several reasons for this behavior:
- If ‘Jim’ answers the question directly and succinctly, he is fearful that others will not regard his life as complex and deep as he wishes it to appear, so an indirect answer gives his life much deeper and richer meaning;
- ‘Jim’ has found that he holds peoples’ attention longer by giving a non-straightforward answer and requiring them, through repeated questioning, to extend their conversation with him;
- ‘Jim’ loves the sound of his voice. By elongating his answer, he listens to his voice longer;
- He doesn’t listen to your question;
- He doesn’t realize that he is long-winded;
- All of the above;
- All of the above except number 5.
My personal preference is number 7. I am of the opinion that, early on, ‘Jim’ knew that he was long-winded but, enjoying the sound of his voice and desiring to hold peoples’ attention to his (imaginary) complex, rich life, he found that he could achieve his goal by not listening to your question and giving tortuous and circuitous responses to any query. Over time, he perfected the art of purposeful obfuscation.
Now you are absolutely right that I am an idiot for attempting to get information from someone who is pathologically disposed NOT to give it. In my defense, I point out that there are times when such information is required. For example, I agreed to pick up ‘Jim’ and his family and friends at the airport when they arrive back from a trip that ‘Jim’ has organized.
- Me: “When does your plane arrive?”
- Jim: “We will have a great time in Patagonia. The trip will take all week and then we have to be very careful about catching the flight back. We may have some problems with the connecting flights…”
- Me: “Yes, but when is the plane scheduled to arrive at the airport?”
- Jim: “You know, you can wait in the cell phone waiting area with the car until we arrive.”
- Me: “…which is at what time?”
- Jim: “I don’t think that we will get the turbulence that we got on my last flight. Did I tell you about that flight? We were on our way from Buenos Aires when all of a sudden…”
- Me: (silently) “Arrggghhh!”
Please, people, I’m not alone here. You’ve encountered the ‘Jims’ of the world. How do you cope with them?
The Sound of One Hand Clapping
First of all, I have NO IDEA why I chose the title I did for this post. It just seemed appropriate even though this post is about hearing (or, more precisely, what I heard) but it would not make sense to title it “the sound of one ear clapping” or “the sound of one ear hearing” since one ear can hear.
I had returned to my boyhood home to visit my parents. My mother and I sat in my old bedroom which she had converted into a small den. It was spring in the Northeast but still quite cool so the windows were all closed. As we sat and talked, I could discern a muffled noise coming from outside. Listening closely, I could distinguish two separate voices – one a lower gruff voice, like a pirate captain barking orders to his crew and the second a higher shrill voice, not unlike a screeching night heron. I don’t know that these are really the most descriptive terms for these voices. Other descriptors are a fog-horn that smoked two packs of cigarettes a day and fingernails scraped across a chalkboard. I only know that one voice was lower and male, the other was higher and female and both were harsh and unpleasant.
After a while listening to the voices, my mother and I looked at each other and I said “I think I recognize those voices. That’s Uncle Fred and Aunt Ethyl.” [Not their real names, of course.] My uncle and aunt were having a knock-down, lights-out screaming argument. There was nothing particularly astonishing about this since arguments between them were commonplace. My uncle drank heavily, my aunt was shrewish and they made no bones about what each thought of the other. I will soften this description by pointing out that I recall no physical exchange between them despite the vehemence of the arguments. The arguments were commonplace and not astonishing to any of us in the immediate family.
What was astonishing was that my aunt and uncle were having this argument in their house – which was two blocks away. Moreover, they were having the argument inside their house which was two blocks away with all the windows closed! If I, today, had living witnesses, I would submit this incident to The Guinness Book of World Records as the loudest argument ever held between two people without artificial amplification.
My uncle’s heavy drinking and my aunt’s shrewish disposition and irritation with my uncle continued unabated for a number of years until my uncle’s death, which occurred early on Christmas morning. To this day, I carry a crystal clear memory of both incidents and it may account for the reason that I have never, since that day, even thought of having a screaming argument with anyone.
After all, how could I compete?
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