Walter Knows What's Up

Walter is one of those people with a firm grasp on ridiculous things that come out of my mouth. He seems to pick up on the undertones of a conversation that no one else does.

One time, I asked him why that was. "No one ever picks up on these things," I told him. "No one else realizes how ridiculous I am."

"Sure they do; they just don't tell you about it," he said.

After a breif, nontechnical survey I decided he was wrong. My other friends were all baboozled by my confidence and the stern authority with which I spoke when utter nonsense fell out of my face. I was preaching gosple, and they sopped it up.

"Walter, do you have goals?" I asked over dinner.

"You mean like, 'by the end of this month' goals?"

"No. Like, 'In a year, I'll want this' goals."

"Sometimes I do. Like when I decided I was going to start running every day over 64 degrees, but then I got shin splints. Now I want to read books of the genre blank and blank and learn to play the guitar better." Walter had recently read Crime and Punishment. He was now on to War and Peace, and he had his sights set on Pride and Prejudice or Sense and Sensibility. Either or. Eventually both.

"I have no goals."

"Bullshit. You always have goals. Like that time you wanted to make out, and you made that plan. Step 1 b was to devise the plan. Or the second time you wanted to make out, and you had five different plans to get you there depending on his mood for when he came back from spring break."

"Yeah, but those goals were plans. I had a logical process figured out to get me from point a to point b."

"The process wasn't logical," Walter said. "The whole plan, the first time, was to devise the plan."

"No. That was the second step."

"Titled 1b. There was no step two," he said. Walter obviously wasn't as impressed as he ought to have been from the fact that I at least numbered the steps of my plan. No matter how silly it might have been. "That whole plan was bullshit."

"Well, I made out with him, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but not as a result of either plan."

"Fine."

"Besides, you have goals. You just decide you want something, and it's a goal."

"I want to stop being fat."

"You're not fat. But if you were, that would be a goal."

"I was thinking of joining a gym, and I would work out every morning."

"In the morning!? What time would that be?"

"I dunno. Like 5."

"Why don't you just workout at night?"

"Because I don't get home until 730."

"So? It's better than going in the morning."

"But it's not like I can just drive there from the train."

"Why no--oh... no car."

"Yeah. So I'd have to come home, eat..."

"Don't eat. Just go straight to the gym."

"But it'll be easier in the morning because I won't have to fight with John for the shower, and I..."

"But you'll go to bed at like 8pm."

"Yeah, but maybe that's a good thing, because it's not like I have anything to do at night, anyhow. Maybe I'll fight less with my mom and my brother."

"Ooooohh... this is just an elaborate scheme to avoid your family."

"No."

"Yes it is."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is. Those are your only reasons for working out in the morning."

"I have other reasons too."

"They're all just excuses. Fine. Wake up at frickin' four in the morning to avoid your family."

"Maybe I'll just stop biting my nails instead."

"That's a goal too."

"Yeah..." The waitress came by and asked if we wanted appetizers.

"I don't," Walter said.

"Me neither."

"I have big fat thighs," Walter said. "I haven't done any exercise since my shin splints came back." Walter weighed about 115 and was over 6 feet tall.

"Walter. You don't have fat thighs."

"Yes I do, and now you know how ridiculous you sound."