During high school a few people from my journalism class took a trip to Columbus, Ohio, where we participated in some sort of training at Ohio State. I seriously can’t remember much about it, but don’t believe we stayed overnight. If we had there would’ve been shenanigans. And I recall no shenanigans. It feels like we went in somebody’s van, up and back in one long day. All of it’s very foggy in my mind, except for a handful of random memories.
I remember visiting a factory where our school paper (The Kennel) was printed. They had a scary machine with powerful hydraulic blades that would cut through foot-tall stacks of paper, in an instant. To operate it, you had to push two buttons on opposite sides of the apparatus, so both your hands were in use. That thing would lop off an arm so cleanly, it probably wouldn’t start bleeding for a half-hour. It made me nervous, and I gave it a wide berth as I walked past. I thought I might get sucked into it.
Also, I remember everyone playing some kind of big-time nerd game while driving back, during which someone would hum the theme song of a TV show and everybody would try to guess the program. Needless to say, I did not participate. I mean, seriously. However, at some point I did say, “Hey, I got one!” Then I made ticking sounds for about ten seconds. Everybody stared at me in confusion, and I shouted, “60 Minutes!” They all laughed, even the hard bitches who hated me and all I stand for.
But the most vivid memory was of some kind of training session led by a grizzled veteran newspaperman. He was like something off TV: tough, rumpled, and intimidating. It was all classroom, until the end. Then he gave us an assignment (WTF??). He allotted us two or three hours to find some stranger on campus, interview him or her about something they had to overcome in life, write it up as a brief feature article, and return. The people who submitted the best pieces would win awards, he said, and their articles would be featured in a magazine or somesuch.
I about soiled my Towncrafts.
And I’ll give you three guesses what I did… That’s right, I made it all up. I didn’t interview anyone. I invented a person whose life was changed by a recently discovered love of photography, or maybe long distance running, or something along those lines. I created quotes, and a full background story. It was 100% fabricated.
I also made sure the article wasn’t very good. I didn’t have to try very hard, mind you. But I needed to be sure this giant load of horseshit didn’t receive any additional scrutiny. Ya know?
When I turned it in to the real-life Lou Grant, I could feel a bead of sweat run down the center of my back. Incredibly, he was reading each as the authors stood in front of him. Then he dispensed instant, tough-love feedback. He finished mine, grunted, and handed it back to me. “It’s not very good,” he said. (Whew!) He gave me some advice, and also criticized my use of the phrase “Junior High School.” Just say “High School,” he told me.
I walked away relieved and confused. Junior High School and High School are two different things. Right? Hey, whatever. I’d survived this unpleasantness. Lou could go fuck himself.
It worked out well, that day. But I’ve largely given up on bullshitting my way through things at this point. I’d much rather admit that I don’t know something, than to be caught trying to fake it. I’ve seen too many people at work get burned while trying to bullshit their way out of a tough spot, and it’s not worth it. Most of the time, folks appreciate your honesty if you just say something like, “I don’t know, but I’ll certainly find out.”
And today I think I’d try to actually do the Columbus assignment, instead of make it all up. It would be uncomfortable, but I could do it. Of course, the end result would probably be the same: “It’s not very good.” Then it would sting a lot more. So, there’s always a downside to putting in an honest effort, as well.
What are your thoughts on bullshitting? Have you ever tried and failed, in a spectacular fashion? Perhaps you’re good it? Have you witnessed somebody else being burned by trying to fake it? Do you do less of it now than when you were younger? Also, what would you have done if you were in my shoes in Columbus? Am I the weird one? I mean, I never even CONSIDERED actually doing the assignment. That would’ve been outside the realm of possibility. How about you?
I need to go now. It’s late, as usual.
Have a great weekend, my friends!
I’ll see you again on Monday.
Now playing in the bunker
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Then there was this guy:
http://deadspin.com/the-fallout-from-sportswritings-filthiest-fuck-up-1797691830
Thanks. . . jtb
In fifth grade, this kid named Sean told us all about this airplane he made, and how he took it out for a test flight over the weekend. He pointed to this other kid Jason and said “I saw you flyin your plane around, too.” Jason immediately responded, “I don’t have an airplane, and you don’t either.”
It was pretty funny, mostly because Sean was an ass, and a terrible bullshitter.
I think they call those people (bullshiters) supervisors where I work.
In my old job, those supervisors brought bullshitting to to genius level.
For 5+ years I bullshitted a guy about my relationship with his wife. (Note: this was not only before I was married but also before I met the woman who would become my wife.) It wasn’t a masterpiece but it was serviceable in that he never found out. And no – I’m not proud of it and no – I would never do something like that again.
I had a chronic bullshitter in my university class. He wasn’t good at it, his bullshit was frequently implausible. I don’t know what that mental illness is. Anyway, we started mailing him official looking case letters from the National of Office Mistruths (or some such) referencing his latest BS. Writing those letters was a hell of a lot more fun than studying.
Once a manager at work noticed that a coworker and I – both Jewish – started growing beards around the same time. The manager asked, “Is this a religious thing?”. The coworker and I looked at each other, and without saying a word, agreed on-the-spot to makeup a story. “The period of time between Hanukkah and Passover is known by religious Jews as ‘Shmegegge’, and it’s observed by refraining from shaving”. The manager seemed to just accept this information and move on, likely because he didn’t want to be questioning religious customs.
Months later, the manager told us a perplexing story, about being invited to a friend’s Passover Seder, and when he told his Jewish friends about ‘Shmegegge’, they looked at him strangely, and said they weren’t familiar with it. Needless to say, my coworker and I were on the floor, pissing our pants.
By the way, in Yiddush, shmegegge basically means bullshit.
Damn funny
How do we know the class trip to Columbus story isn’t bullshit too? How can we ever trust you again Jeff? ; )
I used to work with a guy who just couldn’t seem to say “I don’t know”. He was the senior guy in the group, and I was always amused when a new guy would come in and the bullshit artist would take him under his wing. It was usually less than a week before the new guy would come by and complain that he’d been “taught” something that just wasn’t so. Usually they embarrassed themselves in front of the customer spouting their new knowledge. Caused me all sorts of glee. It finally caught up to him and he was canned.
Does bullshitting the Catholic Church count? Confession never made sense to me, so from my very first Confession at the age of seven through my last one when I was twelve, I would make up sins to confess. Or perhaps I have that backwards, and the Church was bullshitting me. Whatever.
I used to bullshit in confession, too. You just add one lie to the whole thing, and you’re covered. I think that’s how the Church covered their own asses.
I used to really bullshit on term papers. Not only would I make up the articles in my “footnotes”, but the author and title. I’d pick a neighbor on the street and add a Dr. in front of it. I can’t tell you how many marketing articles Bob Gaskell – excuse me, Dr. Robert Gaskell, penned in his day.
Another college class I bullshitted on was a creative writing assignment. I went to City University in NYC and was probably the only one who lived in the suburbs. We had to go to a diner at 3:00 AM and write what we observed. I wish I had done that for real but I wasn’t about to drag my ass out to the car and drive to our diner in the sticks. It just would not have had the same effect.
In fact, I also bullshitted a high school creative writing assignment. We had to blindfold ourselves and sit at the dinner table and experience each food. I come from a family of 6 kids. If I dared to show up at the dinner table blindfolded, my siblings would have had a field day. I’d be subject to horseradish on meatloaf and a raw egg in my mashed potatoes! My family is cruel but I love them anyway! LOL
World class BS artists… Professor Irwin Corey and Cliff Clavin. Link to Professor Corey’s spiel:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MxtN0xxzfsw
When I was a kid, I was blown away by this guys shtick.
Yeah, I remember him from the 60s, 70s, 80s. . .
He just died last February at 102, but he retired early at 98 in 2013.
He might not have been as sharp in the later pieces, but well into his 80s, he had a running subtext to his raps that was frequently social/political. He was an artistic genius.
John
At my junior high back in the early 80’s, near the end of 6th period they used to make announcements over the loudspeaker about things happening the next school day. So one Friday I am sitting in 6th period Health Class, and the announcements come on. I didn’t listen much. Just as they ended, a bone head named Joe who sat in front of me turns around and asks me what they said in the announcements. I don’t think I even paused, I just launched into telling him that they had just announced that the following Monday would kick off school “Spirit Week”. Furthermore, students were encouraged to wear costumes to school on Monday. The more elaborate the better. There will even be prizes handed out for the best costumes. Joe immediately starts telling me he will win a prize. I call him a pussy and say there’s no way he will have the balls to come to school in a costume. So, class ends and I go home for the weekend, never again thinking about Joe or the bomb I just lit. Monday morning comes around and I am in the hallway before first period, getting some things from my locker. All of the sudden I hear a commotion down the hall, and it is moving toward me. I turn and see Joe strutting down the hall in a full, head to toe, Dracula costume. White makeup on his face, long black cape with a red satin lining, white shirt, black pants, shiny black shoes. Jesus, he looked magnificent. All of the kids in that hall were having the same reaction. Horror turned to laughter turned to mockery. I sort of shrunk down and made myself as invisible as possible as he walked past. All day I dreaded what would happen in 6th period Health Class. Turns out, Joe was pretty cool about it. He said the school sent him home right away that morning and he was able to shower and change and get back to school by the start of 2nd period. He actually laughed it off.
I am a terrible person.