One Hundred and Sixty

Fourteen years ago, when Bush ran for re-election, everyone else in the company said they were going to vote for him.  Why, I asked, after they’d complained about him throughout his first term, would they vote for him again?  They replied that, despite his faults, Bush was a Republican.  They would never vote for a Democrat.

They felt confirmed when, four years later, the Democrats nominated Obama.  Mark was the most vocal, yelling angrily that Obama was a socialist who, if elected, would take money away from middle-class people “like us” and give it to “those tool-and-die guys”, apparently forgetting that he had been a “tool-and-die guy” himself only a few years earlier.      

They all assumed I was going to vote for Obama.  Bob teased me for my naïveté in believing he would keep his campaign promises, while Rick and Lorna each took me aside and told me earnestly that Obama was not “the long-awaited Messiah”.  I agreed that Obama was no more likely than any politician to keep his campaign promises, without telling them that I wouldn’t be voting for him because he wasn’t a liberal, as he pretended, much less a socialist, as they imagined.

Three months ago, when I returned to the company, I wondered whether anyone there had learned anything during the interim.  I teased Bob for voting for Trump, just as he had teased me eight years ago for voting for Obama, expecting him to deny he'd voted for him; but to my surprise he said he did, and was “still cautiously optimistic” about Trump.

Mark surprised me as well, by saying party labels are meaningless; Bush, Obama, and now Trump, are all war criminals who should be strung up from the nearest lampposts.     

Nick surprised me by saying he’s never taken any interest in politics until now, but Trump scares him.

I was sitting at my desk earlier today, aware that Nick was babbling again, but paying no attention until I heard the words “Pavlov’s dog”.  I then turned and saw everyone else was looking at me.

“You got his attention”, said Amanda.  “I bet you know about Pavlov’s dog, don't you?".

“Of course,” I said.  “I’m Russian.”

“I was just telling them I was out with my buddies last night, and I made a joke about Pavlov’s dog”, Nick explained.  "And none of them knew what I was talking about.  Can you believe that?”

I could believe it, because everything Nick's said about his buddies suggests they’re fools.  But I was surprised Nick knew about Pavlov’s dog – or rather admitted knowing about it.  He's given everyone the impression that he is himself a fool who knows and cares only about video games.  But I find his act even less convincing than Bob’s Republican ‘true believer’ act.

While I sat wondering why he’d stepped out of character, Nick continued talking.  I don’t know how he made the segue, but he was now talking about Schrödinger. 

“Pavlov’s dog got into the box and fought with Schrödinger’s cat,” I said.  “That’s why the cat was dead when the box was opened.”

“That’s not a joke,” Nick said, frowning at me.  “I told them a joke, but that’s not a joke.”

So I went back to work.