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In honor of International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, if a little late…

The Right Word

By Skott Klebe

I am the king of timing.

Take this morning, for instance.  Zexic, Inc.’s annual shareholders’ meeting, about two hundred people in a dark auditorium listening to the careful whitewashing of a mediocre quarter. You remember when the CEO, Craig what’s-his-name, Blank, was saying, “…we continue to reap great benefits from leveraging our unique technology…”, blah di fucking blah. I know, you don’t remember it, because who can ever remember that kind of crap?

But suppose he’d said, “…we continue to reap great benefits from leveraging alien technology.”  You’d remember that, wouldn’t you? Suppose he hadn’t even noticed he’d said that? Suppose that every time he used the word “technology,” he’d kept on saying “alien technology,” up to the moment when Zexic, Inc.’s board chairman dragged him off the stage and kicked him to death?

You’d remember that, wouldn’t you?

That was one approach I considered, believe me. Would have had much of the desired effect, plus giving me the opportunity to laugh my ass off. Which I would also have enjoyed. I mean, imagine it: “Excuse me sir, is this your ass?” “Thanks, I must have dropped it while I was laughing so hard!”

And I could have pulled it off, mind you, but it was too early in the presentation, and too strange. It’s not like I was going to follow Craig Blank around for the rest of his life, making him say ‘alien’ all the time, right? The minute I’m out of the room, Craig’s all normal again, probably trying to figure out what happened. I can’t change what he thinks, only what he says.

Instead, I chose a more, uh, minimalist approach. I waited for the CFO’s speech, and then, every time he mentioned a financial result or projection, or any other time I sensed the opportunity, I simply made him add the word “not.” You do remember that, don’t you?

CFO: as expected, Zexic’s Northeast new-customer sales did…

ME: …NOT…

CFO: …not meet forecasts. Zexic fared similarly in Southeast, …

ME: …NOT…

CFO: …not succeeding against the aggressive targets set by comparison to the prior year. On the other side of the ledger, cost-control measures were…

ME: …NOT…

CFO: …not successful, so we did…

ME: …NOT…

CFO: … not achieve our goal of four percent reduction in G&A. In the end….

You get the picture. Timing, I tell you, is everything.

You know how it turned out, of course — Craig Blank chases the CFO off the stage, takes over the presentation, then proceeds to muff the very same details as his loyal CFO? I couldn’t have planned that. Priceless. Well, actually, not priceless.  Zexic plummeted from 54¾ to 12½ in about an hour. I covered my short sale at 18, then when it got to 13 I bought again, because at that price they were probably undervalued. So I’ll collect twice on that one. Quit drooling, junior, it’s not the time for you to call your trader just yet. Put down your phone and listen.

So just stipulate that I have fabulous timing, OK? That, and I can also make anyone, anyone at all, say exactly one word whenever I want.

ME: …RUTABAGA…

“Rutabaga.”

See? You weren’t planning to say the word ‘rutabaga,’ were you? You can’t stop me, either, even when you’re expecting it.

ME: …RUTABAGA…

“Rutabaga.”

See? No, sit down, damn it, I’m not done with you yet. I’m telling you this for a reason, and you are, by God, going to hear me out. I don’t walk around telling everyone that I manipulate shareholder meetings of public companies for personal gain, and I wouldn’t be telling you now without a damn good reason.

I’ve told you I’ve got a couple of things going for me, and there’s one more: besides this freakish little power, and fucking awesome timing, I’m also a pretty good listener. So when the maitre d’ put me at that table right next to yours, and I could see two things: the back of your head, and your friend Rita’s face. And a nice face that was, maybe not Hollywood beautiful but pretty, and intelligent, plus the added bonus that she never once took her eyes off you the whole time you were eating. I could also overhear what you both were saying, and, as I said, I’m a damn good listener.

So what did I hear? I heard the things you said, all about ROI and zeta and beta and all that crap that you legitimate investors think is so important. I heard all the things Rita said, which were all about how amazing you are, and how great you are, and how right you are about everything, except when she corrected you on that paragraph in the 10Q, which, by the way, you obviously didn’t read before you came here, schmuck. And you slapped her down, said it wasn’t relevant, said you thought she was misreading it, la di fucking da. Made her feel like dirt. And you’re like what, twenty-six? You’re not married, you’re probably working forty thousand hours a week. You have no life but money. Listen to me, you arrogant little shit. You know what you are?

ME: …dork…

“Dork.”

Exactly. I thought about fixing it for you, making you seem a little more friendly. I thought about giving you that one right word, here and there, to make everything all right. Maybe I make you a little more affectionate, and I continue to help you out here and there; you don’t know why it’s happening, but you find you and Rita are liking each other just a little bit more, until maybe you get to be a little bit more than friends.

Might be more than you deserve, but it seems like it would make Rita happy. At least for a while. But I know where that would have put you, not knowing where the words were coming from, not knowing why you were saying them: in the end, you wouldn’t trust yourself, and in particular you wouldn’t trust yourself around Rita, so you’d fuck it up. And rightly so. That’s why I don’t indulge in that kind of crap any more.

Listen, man, I’ve got one word for you. Trust, man, it’s all about trust. That’s why I’m leveling with you here, why I’m telling you to clean up your shit instead of doing it for you. Trust.

Me, I’m done with trust. Can’t hack it. I keep thinking, what if I’m not the only one of me around? Suppose that there are people out there who can do two words? Or three at a time?

God, what I could do with three words. I’d be the fucking President of the U.S. of A., right now. And I do mean the fucking president, know what I mean?

But you, man, you have a chance. Forget this zeta, beta crap. Buy, sell, short, long, put, call, oh, my fucking God, what terrible words. Get some new ones.

ME: …TRUST…

“Trust.”

ME: …HOPE…

“Hope.”

ME: …LOVE…

“Love.”

Hey, man, those are some great words! Give ‘em a shot, why don’t you? Before it’s too late.

Look, she’s coming back. The rest is up to you — we never had this little chat, right?