The Retard and the Really, Really Good Looking Person (or "Life is a Battle of Wits")

There was a small cafeteria at the mall, open late. I had just finished teaching architectural drawing at the college, a favorite subject of mine, being an artistic type trapped in a technical occupation; it offered some creativity... 1

When class was over I had a sudden urge to mingle with humanity outside of a classroom environment. Simple socialization. No errands to run. I took a student along, one from the geeky segment of the class who need social experience- a student that always stayed after class, after everyone else with busy social lives had left. 2

We ordered a platter of no-name greasy fare, the picture in the menu was artfully done, anyway, and we found one of many small dirty round white tables with striped umbrellas unoccupied, where we set down our trays.3

Just then a huge, most would say ugly, retard walked in, and set down his belongings at the seat next to us, then turned to go order some food. This is not unusual for me, for I do attract the odd; and I have been around so long that by pure statistics everything that could ever happen to a person in a lifetime has already happened to me, and many things more than once. Attracting the odd was one of them.4

Just then a voice behind me chides, “Ewe, look at the retard.” I turned and saw a shortish, slender teen couple basked in narcissism slouching at one of the couches along the wall, looking like two sunflowers; the boy was maliciously mimicking the dumb look on the retard's face. 5

I saw that this was very unwise, in fact physically dangerous, for among the retard's belongings was a small machete knife wrapped in a dirty rag. I said in a low voice, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, he’s brought along a little play thing, unless you'd like to see it in action? Now the boy, considering himself cool, sized me up, determining if I were demanding a response upon pain of physical attack; I wasn't, so he didn't answer. “A little more empathy and you wouldn't be such a dipshit!” I couldn’t resist that raised-eyebrow assault, more on the narcissistic cloud hovering over the boy than on the boy himself, it felt good, but no sooner had I turned away that I realized it probably beget an additional challenge for me that evening...6

The retard returned with his fare- a very healthy plate of fruits and muffins. It actually wowed me, especially the chilled half-cut pear sitting in a bowl, so large one would think the mall was in the lush tropics, and not in a small dirty northern industrial town at the onset of another long, bleak winter…7

The next thirty minutes went by amiably, for retards and I get along well. I don’t know if that is a good or bad thing, it just is. No matter how bad tempered they are, I can spend hours with them without incident. I’ve concluded that their temper arises from short-sightedness in the people around them.8

As it was, I spoke to the retard more in body language than anything else. Have you ever cracked a joke in pure body language? I did wonder why a retard was allowed to carry a machete knife. It seemed dangerous. Perhaps it was a part of his occupation, maybe he was a ‘responsible’ retard able to carry out a task, even a dangerous task. I was satisfied that others had made that determination before me, but I knew to watch my body language nevertheless…9

Well, all good things must come to an end, and the busboy came to clear the table. The retard didn’t touch the pear, and I eyed it much like a sultan would eye a new ruby. “Wait, I’ll have that!” This made the retard laugh out loud, proud that someone would want something that he had put his stamp on. Mmmm, what a pear.10

That’s when things began to move a bit too quickly for me. I stood to stretch, and turned toward the cafeteria exit to take in the passers by. I turned back to finish my lemonade, and it was gone. The busboy was not around, so it was likely a mistake on someone’s part. I checked the nearest tables, then turned again and my entire table was gone. Now this I had more chance of catching, the table having a striped umbrella and being so large compared to a glass of lemonade. Sure enough, I eyed it just as it came to rest in the hands of Mr. Narcissist. He obviously had a plan, his furrowed brows spoke of ‘mission’. Well, not knowing if he had retribution on his mind or he was simply an obsessive thief, I ambled cautiously over. His cute button-nosed girlfriend had gone, so it was just him and I, probably for the better…11

He began. “Before I left here tonight I told myself I had to get to know you,” he said half sardonically. I admired his managing this mano-a-mano encounter, not only for the intelligence and cleverness it required, but it would have been easier for him to confront me with his slavish girl dangling at his side, trying to eye me down. He showed a culture and class uncommon in this small town- too bad it failed him when armed retards were around… 12

“OK,” I said, “Get to know me... let’s start with my shortcomings. But first, give me one of your shortcomings.” I was glad to see he took this well, for it showed he was not encumbered by preprogrammed behavior patterns and had the wits to react to the unexpected. With a little embarrassed smile and shift in his seat he began to speak, for I was in earnest. I wasn’t catching any of it however, the whole situation being so new that my mind immediately wandered. I cut him off in mid-sentence. “Sorry, I didn’t catch any of that. Could you repeat it?” This obviously killed his train of thought, and I knew wasn’t going to be able to repeat it as successfully. “Well,” I said, “You can see what one of my shortcomings are, focusing.” 13

“Alright,” I said, moving the situation on. “We don’t have a lot of time before they shoo us out, so let us arm wrestle. What better way to get to know one another in such a short time? I find that it's a great way to communicate, too, in a primal way.” I noticed he mildly engaged in weightlifting- the muscles he had were not those of a physical occupation, but those of an athlete, and over the years I could discern between the two. I had wondered if he had desired some form of physical retribution for my quip, and this would be a good substitute for him. 14

I saw his hesitant look at my unusual solution, and I said, “as I see you are freshly worked-out, and I’ve only had three hours of sleep in the past week, you have a good chance of winning. You will then fondly look back on this encounter as one of the great conquests in your glorious life, the night you bested the man that made you feel like a fool for trying to cajole a retard with a machete into bringing his looks and behavior up to your standards, for, whether you know it or not, that was the base reason for your chide…"15

Sorry, since this was all a dream, this is where I woke up. Whatever the outcome, it all follows the same rule- life is a battle of wits. 16