MONKEYSAYS

HARRY’S PROJECT


TO MARKET TO MARKET

"Let me have a good pound and a half of the steelhead," Harry says, knowing all along that it won't be that simple. There are about six fillets laid out and they are all pretty much the same size.

The fish counterman, (a boy, really) picks one out and lays it on the scale. A pound and a quarter. "How's that?” he asks.

"I really wanted at least a pound and a half," Harry says. "That's not enough."

The boy picks up a second filet, adds it to the scale. Two and a half. "How's that?" he asks.

"That's really too much," Harry replies. "I don't need that much."

The boy stares at Harry. He stares at the scale. He shrugs his shoulders. He is out of options.

"Could you cut one of those pieces?" Harry asks.

"They don't like us to do that," the boy replies.

"I'd really like you to cut one of those," Harry says.

The clerk eyeballs Harry for a long second, exhales slowly, then, very deliberately, takes one of the filets from the scale and cuts it in half.

"Thank you," says Harry. "That really wasn't so hard, was it?"

"The way you say 'really' all the time isn't right. It sounds very disrespectful. You're act like you're better than everybody."

"Thanks again," Harry says. "Really."

RIDE RUMINATION

Harry is a little agitated on the way home. The confrontation was annoying, but so insignificant that there was no way to profit from it. It would barely make an interesting anecdote, even if LZ could possibly want to hear one more, one more, one more what....

Maybe I should get one of those blogs, Harry thinks. People just rant and rave on them about all kinds of nonsense, and they're getting quite popular. I could probably set it up from work, Harry thinks. No one would notice, or even care. I could think of a catchy nickname and get some good graphics. Then maybe I could become a famous complainer, an advocate for reasonable people. Maybe my insights.... Well, doubtful. And what would be the point, after all.

NEITHER FISH NOR FOWL

"When I was buying the steelhead, I saw that flounder was $10 a pound. Who would pay that much for such a nothing fish?" Harry asks.

"The Catholics would," LZ says. "It's Lent, they have to eat fish, but they don't like fish, so they get flounder, because it tastes the most like nothing. And of course the stores know they're coming for it, so they raise the price."

"The steelhead was reasonable," Harry says.

"That's because the Catholics haven't discovered it."

"Well, let's hope they don't."

"I wouldn't worry about it. I think they're OK with the flounder. They eat it for a certain time, then they buy a big Easter ham for themselves as a reward."

"Are you talking theology?" Harry asks. "Or commerce?"

COFFEE BREAK

Harry usually tries to take his coffee alone, but it's become increasingly more difficult. Beatrix, a new woman in his section, has taken an interest in him. She shows up at desk to chat. She rides the elevator with him. She sits with him in the cafeteria.

"How was your weekend?" Beatrix asks.

"Fine, Beatrix. And yours?"

"Call me B," Says Beatrix. "My husband and I went to a Secular Humanist convention in Washington. It was wonderful. You should come to some of their events."

Harry wonders why B thinks he should, but he doesn't pursue it. "We don't get out that much," Harry says.

"It was wonderful to be around so many like-minded people," B says. "Very inspiring. Did you know that I was a philosophy major in college?"

I've got to start writing all this nonsense down, Harry thinks. Maybe I can work it into my blog. Then he remembers that he'd dismissed the whole idea. But still, for a second, it seemed that he did have a blog. The notion had become quite tangible. At least for that second.

Back at his desk, Harry looks up the official Secular Humanist website. He hadn't been aware that Secular Humanism was such an organized thing. There were manifestos, statements, and positions that covered everything from evolution to education to sexuality. Apparently, Secular Humanists were quite the freethinkers.

He wonders about B's motives. Was she some sort of libertine? Libertiness? Was there some oblique something being telegraphed? What did it mean when someone told someone else about Secular Humanism? What went on at those conferences? What events was B referring to? I mean, he thought, To what events was B referring?

CAN WE TALK?
"I hate it when you say that," LZ says. "It's not funny."

"I think I'm being stalked at work,” Harry says. "Well at least shadowed. Or maybe recruited."

"Who's the guilty party?" LZ asks.

"Do you remember that new woman I told you about? The one who sat next to me at the office Christmas luncheon and couldn't find one thing on the menu that she could eat. Finally, she ordered some white bland thing off-menu, then had a big piece of cake."

"This doesn't sound familiar," LZ says. "Are you sure you told me about her?"

"Her husband has the same jacket as I do. The red one."

"You never mentioned any such woman," LZ says. "Or any such jacket. What does she look like?"

"She's small. If you were to see her, you'd say she was elflike, or elfin," Harry says.

"Would I?"

"But she's not really elfin at all. It's an illusion. Brought on by her bright orange hair. She must have dyed it to create that very effect. .And her wardrobe. She wears a lot of muted browns and greens. Woodland colors. If her hair weren't like that, she'd be much more Dickensian than elfin. A Dickensian waif."

"You must have put quite a bit of thought into her," LZ says.

"Not really," says Harry. "I'm just working on my powers of observation. And description."

NIGHT
Harry's lying in the dark, LZ's asleep beside him. Then Harry falls asleep as well.


MORNING
I like the idea of a platform, Harry thinks. But the rest of it, I don't know. He drives to work with the radio turned way up, to drown out his lack of thoughts. He is barely settled in at his desk when B appears.

"We have these neighbors," she says. "A very nice young couple, but they're real fundamentalists. Anyway, they asked us if we want to go see that new religious movie. The one where Christ is beaten and then killed."

"Sound like a night out," Harry says. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them we couldn't," B says. "I told them we're moving this weekend."

"What will you do then?" Harry asks.

"We'll probably go see something else," B says. "Then stop somewhere for a drink."

"I mean," says Harry, "what will you do this weekend when your neighbors see you haven't moved?"

"Oh," says B. "I guess I'll tell them it fell through."

AFTERNOON

Harry calls LZ before leaving the office. "How about we all go out for a pizza tonight” get?"

"It's still Lent," LZ says. "On Fridays in Lent the pizza place will be packed. It's part of the whole Catholic fasting deal. We'll never get a table."

“Right,” say Harry. “Maybe instead, we could get a babysitter, go to a steakhouse, and take in a movie.”

“Have you been talking to that woman again?” LZ asks.

“Which woman?” Harry asks.

“The woodland sprite, the one I can’t remember.”

“I’m sure we’ve talked about her,” Harry says. “Don’t you remember when I asked you about sickening, organic, caffeinated tea and what you would do with it? That was her too.”

“Can’t say it rings a bell,” LZ says.

NEW WE’RE TALKING

“You’ve been moping around the house all weekend,” LZ says. “What’s going on?”

“I thought I was puttering,” Harry says.

“No, you’ve definitely been moping. And I know why.”

“Why?” asks Harry.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve taken people at face value. You never asked or wondered why that act the way they do. You just responded to them as if they really meant what they said. It was almost farcical. At first I thought you were being facetious, maybe trying to act cool, by not reacting.”

“Go on,” says Harry.

“But as the years went by, I realized it couldn’t be an act. No one could sustain a performance like that for year after year. So, I began to see this lack of affect as in integral part of your personality, something almost clinical. It was close to sociopathic.”

“You’re saying,” Harry says, “that taking people at face value, believing what they say, is a sociopathic trait.”

“Certainly,” LZ says. “How else would you describe someone with absolutely no regard for social conventions?”

“Fascinating,” Harry replies.

“But now, suddenly, for some reason, a light came on,” LZ says. You’re going around looking for reasons, for hidden motives, for what’s behind the curtain. But, you got a late start and you’re fumbling around, not sure of what you’re doing. You’re not very good at it and you don’t like not being good at things. Hence the moping.”

This is pretty good material, Harry thinks. Not as good as I’ve been getting from B, of course, but it’ll do once I punch it up a little.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Harry says. “Oh, and while I’m thinking of it, I’ll be staying late at the office tomorrow. I’ve got a project I’ve got to get working on.”