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Digital Slob Curt Brandao |
Early lesson on
the power of silenceWe've all dropped rhetorical stink bombs, but while Respectable People do it by accident, Digital Slobs do it on purpose.
Many so-called Respectable People work a room like Rush Limbaugh on an ESPN soundstage. I watched one hold a wedding reception captive when his entree triggered a food-poisoning flashback (that concludes with his lower intestines in a medical journal). Then he detailed all the birth defects that run up and down his family tree, unaware that as he spoke his brother's pregnant wife had lost the ability to blink.
But he had as much malice as he had tact. Not so with Digital Slobs. Find one of us with his foot in his mouth, and you'll find a foot that first tried to kick someone's backside before ricocheting upward. Still, if a snake adopted a "no biting" policy, we'd pummel it with a shovel, anyway, which brings me to my next Slobism, best illustrated by first-hand experience:
Slobism No. 2: Smart-alecks who hesitate lose.
I was destined to confront my inept high school sociology teacher who, when not burning out every film projector in the building, charted new depths in busywork.
One day, as the class awaited a shipment of fresh bulbs to continue our audio/visual odyssey, she told us to write, extemporaneously, a two-page essay about "the differences between the foods of today versus the foods of yesterday." The valedictorian-to-be tapped his pen to his temple trying to remember what the Pharaohs had for breakfast, but because I knew I was headed for a state college with an open-admissions policy, I opted for a little fun.
"The basic difference is that the foods of today are fresher than the foods of yesterday," I wrote. "Compare a day-old donut to a week-old donut. My uncle has some donuts from the Truman years he plays horseshoes with now. ..."
The next day I was certain I'd be in the vice principal's dungeon. Instead, I got a "D" on the essay and a note that said, "There's a time and place for everything." Truce seemed possible. But a truckload of projector bulbs must've jackknifed on the interstate, because moments later came another assignment, a two-page essay on "your idea of a Utopian society."
Everyone looked at me (defiance unpublicized is defiance wasted). Then my muse arrived.
"My idea of a perfect society," I wrote, "is a society where everyone knows 'there's a time and place for everything.'" Three pages this time. Surely I'd see the VP now. Nope, just another "D."
Two days later, the bulbs arrived and tension drained from the room. But as the teacher fed the projector, out of nowhere a battle of the sexes erupted.
"Wait, you're telling me that every woman is smarter than any man?" I asked.
"Yes, all women are smarter than men. Period," she said. "Turn out the lights." Her declaration remained uncontested in the dark silence, until everyone saw she had placed the slides in upside down. Laughter burst forth. Someone flicked on the lights, and the teacher saw me, valiantly stone-faced.
"Mr. Brandao, go to Mr. Powell's office, NOW!" she said.
What open revolt couldn't accomplish in five pages over several days, my restraint achieved in an instant.
"Can you believe I'm sitting here because I said nothing?" I asked the vice principal.
"Yes," he replied.
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Curt Brandao is the Star-Bulletin's production editor. Reach him at: cbrandao@starbulletin.com
