A Night Of Scott Goodin
A photograph of Scott Goodin.
The society held an event on what it is like to be Scott Goodin. It was called “A Night of Scott Goodin: What It Is Like.” Spurred on by strong pre-sale sales, the society planned for an overflow room at the event as well. It is always nice when things turn out to be even more popular than you expected. Gladys Something was the only person who was in the overflow room for the duration of the event, and that is likely only because she had been there for “An Afternoon of Gilbert Henry: What It Is Like” and had fallen asleep. She woke up halfway through, and texted her daughter to come get her, because Gladys can’t drive. Gladys thought about waiting in the lobby out front, but figured that she might as well stay and listen because Scott Goodin had been there listening intently during “An Afternoon of Gilbert Henry” and it seemed like the polite thing to do. Rex Something had turned off the lights in the overflow room because, at the time, Gladys had been asleep, and it seemed like the polite thing to do. So Gladys sat there, politely in the dark, listening to the panel describe what it is like to be a 27 year old middle class white man.
It was about the time that Gladys started to doze off again, that her daughter, driving down a portion of the highway she had driven on many times before, lost her balance on her moped, and was promptly crushed by two 18 wheeler trucks carrying baby supplies. Gladys Something’s daughter was pronounced dead on the scene, and Captain Something wrote in his log book that it looked like she died immediately, even before the first set of tires was done crushing her into her bike. But Captain Something had his doubts and knew that there was likely some portion of her still breathing as the mash of daughter and bike parts was kicked over to the side of the road by the second pair of wheels of the second 18 wheeler.
Gladys Something is a strong woman, and a fighter, and needs to just keep going on. We all do.
Scott Goodin was invited to “A Night of Scott Goodin: What It Is Like” because to not invite him would have been rude, and the society is very interested in not being un-polite. But at no point was it the plan for Scott to speak. If Scott had known this, he would not have come, because he finds the most pleasure in being discussed when he is not present, as if he has died. When he found out that he wasn’t going to be speaking, he heaved a sigh of relief, and tried to beat a hasty retreat, but couldn’t find a moment to duck out. And anyway, his wife, whom he had texted to come pick him up, was stuck in traffic on the highway caused by what looked like two 18 wheelers that were carrying baby supplies that had jackknifed on the highway. So Scott Goodin stayed, and smiled and nodded at each speaker and presenter, feeling super fucking smug and polite.
Tom Something Something was first to speak. “Look,” said Tom, “I never had the pleasure of meeting Scott. I came to appreciate him, you know, later on, during the loneliness years, so I’m not really familiar with any of his work, but I have come up with a version of him in my head, so, if you’ll permit me, let me tell you a little bit of what Scott Goodin, the man, was like.”
Scott Goodin smiled and leaned eleven degrees forward, which was meant to convey interest in what was about to be said, which is something his mother taught him to do.
Outside, in the overflow room, Gladys had received the news about to spoiled baby supplies, and was already coming up with ways to end conversations when people would ask her, “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I can’t even imagine. How’re you doing?”
If you don’t have the means, or willingness, to visit a psychologist, then you may never have the experience of realizing just what a boring person you are. You know, you thought you were interesting, but through therapy, you will hopefully realize that your problems aren’t special, and are just slight variations on those of the mindless drones that surround you, who, as it turns out, are also in therapy - some of them even also see Dr. Keegan. Scott goes to therapy once a week, but, as it turns out, Dr. Keegan isn’t very good at what he does, so, before “A Night of Scott Goodin,” Scott still thought he was super fucking interesting. Happily however, “A Night of Scott Goodin: What It Is Like” took care of that, because there’s nothing on earth that makes you feel less significant than having your virtues and triumphs ticked through, one by one, in front of a packed community center gym at 8pm on a Tuesday night.
As smoke filled the room, and the first few notes of the three hour techno break that was intended to cover Scott’s tenure working for the state government puffed out of the speakers on stage, Scott began to wonder if maybe this whole thing had been a bad idea. Not a terrible idea. Just a bad one. But bad enough that he would try his hardest to never do something like this again.
And that’s when Gayle Something tapped Scott on the shoulder and told him that there was someone on the office phone for him and that he should come and take it, because the person just kept calling, and Gayle was getting annoyed.
“Look, I wanted to call and tell you, because we both know what is coming,” said the voice.
“Mom?” said Scott.
“We both know this is coming. You’re going to feel regret. You’re going to feel pain. And you’re going to repeatedly ask yourself if what you are about to do, and what you just did, was the right thing.
“You are going to categorize yourself as “pre-break-up Scott” and “post-break-up Scott” and you are going to think of yourself and your memories in those terms. You will look back on “pre-break-up Scott” and marvel at how happy he was, but also marvel at the anvil swinging over his head. And then there’s “post-break-up Scott” who will write a letter that he realizes half way through no-one will ever read, and take a photo of himself to express how massive a mistake he believes just made.”
“Can you get off the phone? I need to make a call,” said Gayle.
“And maybe you were happier,” said the voice on the phone. “You tell yourself that you weren’t. That this is better. But you don’t trust yourself. And so your words only go so far.”
“I..really…I need to make a call.” Gayle grabbed the phone from Scott, but the voice on the phone was done with its speech, and if Scott had stayed on, all they would have talked about was what a nightmare the Trump presidency was.
And Scott went back to listen. To breathe in the smoke in the room, and chew on the furniture. To join in the joy that is a group of people in a darkened room, listening to music, willing themselves to enjoy it, but sincerely wondering when the music is going to be over.
Don’t remember yourself. It’s not a good idea.
