Hey, Here's Some Truth

I wish I could be real with you. By real, I mean tell the truth:

I don’t want to talk to you. You bore me. Yes, that dress does actually make you look fat. I don’t feel like going out tonight because I’m tired of your company, your tireless, frivolous conversation.

No, we probably won’t hang out this weekend because you are a flake. You don’t care about anyone except yourself.

I’m not sure what, exactly, you have going for you.

“Excuse me sir, I want to let you know that I think what you just said was complete and utter BS. Really, it reeks and is sputtering out of your mouth – kind of gross. Just because you have a PhD, doesn’t mean your assumptions become fact.”

I pass by you at the local coffee shop or the pizzeria and I always say: “Hi, How are you?” You respond, “Good. How are you?” I say, “Fine thank you.” I’m not fine, not on this particular day. I may just have lost a job offer. I may have just lost my mother. But I’m fine.

I open the door for you and I don’t hear a thank-you. I want to tell you how furious you’ve just made me. Instead I subtly say, “You’re welcome.”

The truth is: We don’t tell the truth. People are soft; they can’t handle it. I don’t know if I can handle it. I’m used to euphemisms. Vietnam wasn’t a war – in the early years, it was a conflict. “Collateral damage.” That’s a good one.

Grandpa passed away.

When I was a sporting youngster, I didn’t realize the game, hot potato, was a metaphor for the truth. It exists, it gets passed around, but people don’t want to hold on to it too long because it stings – it burns.

New game: Truth potato. Hold on to it as long as you can, let it burn and then reluctantly pass it on.

Create an interior like the exterior of a Roman gladiator – let it scar you.

If only honor was imparted to the participants of Truth Potato as it was to the gladiators: that’d be real.

-Alex Tandy