Hammering Nails Into Clouds

Essays

Sep 2

Open political discourse has reached an abominable level. Actually, it’s been here for years. It looks like a thermometer that goes up to 100 degrees when it’s 112 in the shade in Scottsdale. Bursting at the seams. I stopped talking about politics and religion with people long ago, but not because I don’t like an intelligent back-and-forth conversation. It’s because people don’t like to play educational ping pong anymore. They like the buy that half-table that exists so they can hit the ball back and forth to themselves for hours while their like-minded friends watch on Twitch.

When I lived in Bloomfield, Connecticut, after my stepbrother went to Arizona State, a nice lady and man would knock on my door every Sunday morning. This was when I thought I had to answer my door. They wanted to pitch me on Jehovah. Sometimes I stayed behind the storm door until they left. They were genuinely nice, but trying to close the door every Sunday was like watching Elmer’s glue try to hold up an A paper on the wall.

When I used to get called on to answer a question about the 211 pages we had to read in two days in law school, I’d have preferred to have been waterboarded with pineapple Fanta and a rag from the local auto mechanic. When I taught college students for three years, I never called on anyone. I didn’t care if they did their homework or not; it was all part of their grade. If they wanted to pay for college or waste their parents’ money just to show up and get a D, that was up to them. I didn’t try to make anyone sweat.

When another real estate agent wants to talk to you on the phone about their buyer and your listing, it means they are going to tell you a story. For me, it’s a story I don’t want to hear. I’ve tried to explain this to real estate agents for years. I spent ten years negotiating criminal cases every day; I’ve heard every pitch in the book. It’s not in their best interests to try to tell me a story. I am not emotional about my clients’ home. I am there to get them the best price and terms. That never comes with a pre-explanation that can’t be texted.

“Do you have time for a quick call?” is like hammering nails into clouds to me. There is no answer because it is impossible. I never have time for a quick call because I never want to have time for a quick call. Just tell me what you have to say so I can text back “STOP” or straight delete the text forever. Stop asking to ask me something. It happens in my email every day, too. “Can I send you the one-sheet on this guest?” Why didn’t you just attach the one-sheet with the pitch? Circles.

You know when you are trying to hang a shelf, but you don’t know what a stud finder is and you hammer into the wall and it goes all the way in? The defense rests.