The Unkindest Cut

Task 20, May 16 to May 23

“A truth doesn’t mind being questioned. A lie does.” Unknown

The kind people at Spectrum Communications, El Segundo, threw me a nice going away party a few months ago. It wasn’t a retirement party, per se, as I spent only seven of my 42 years in the television industry at Spectrum, and truth be told, the Jeff that my Spectrum co-workers were celebrating was a kindly, elderly man who wore cardigan sweaters and mentored the young producers and gave sage advice to the other executives and didn’t cause HR any trouble, whereas the Jeff of the previous 35 years was better known for his temper tantrums and overbearing manner and his insufferable habit of telling the same stories over and over–THAT Jeff spent hours in HR offices, drank too much at company events and caused more than one intern to switch career paths…

But I digress. The Spectrum party was held at the Manhattan Beach Country Club–a club without a golf course, just pickleball and tennis courts, and a giant bar. As per tradition at a going away party for someone in the world of cable television, there was an extended cocktail hour followed by a video presentation (a montage of co-workers blathering insincere best wishes to camera, i.e. “enjoy happy hour and the early bird dinner at Dennys!” which at that moment I cursed under my breath, but now, months later, I indulge in happy hours and late afternoon meals with alarming regularity…)

CHECK OUT OUR PODCAST, OLD PEOPLE THIS WEEK, ON YOUTUBE, SPOTIFY AND APPLE PODCASTS.

But I digress. At one point, late in the evening, A group of six or eight people, including my wife, stood at the bar, enjoying a last drink, reminiscing, and this guy Wally, who had his arm draped over the shoulder of his wife, regaled everyone with a story about a night during a newscast that the show director got violently ill in the control room and rushed to the men’s room in the middle of the telecast, and while everyone else, including me, froze and panicked–HE jumped into the director’s chair and calmly took over.

Now, that just wasn’t true. As a matter of fact, WALLY froze–I told him to go check on the director in the men’s room, and I told someone else–a show producer, if I remember correctly, to jump into the chair and get us to the next commercial break, at which point the original director, wan but stable, returned and finished the show.

Odd.

Later, in the Uber on the way back home, my wife and I rehashed the whole episode and she said, “You didn’t say anything…why?” And I answered, “Three reasons. Did you see the way his wife looked at him when he told the story? She was smiling. She was proud–PROUD of him”. And my wife sort of nodded and said, “okay, I can see that”.

And, I continued, “moreover, he clearly believes that’s the way it went down. He believes it to his core, or he wouldn’t have told the story in front of some of the people who were there that night…”

My wife nodded again and said, “What's the third reason?”. I looked at her and said, “years ago, when I was in my twenties, I went with a crew to shoot an interview with Richard Simmons at his house up in the Hollywood hills. True story. And while we–there was a camera guy, Mike, and an audio dude, Pete–while we were waiting in the backyard for Simmons to come out and sit down for the interview, me and Mike started jawing and bragging about things in general, and then specifically about who could jump further, and Mike dared me to jump over Simmons lap pool, which had a width of maybe 5-6 feet. I put down my clipboard and took off my fanny pack…(my wife grimaced), hey, it was the 80’s after all, and I jumped over the pool and then celebrated like a man who–well, like a man who had just jumped over Richard Simmons’ pool.”

My wife shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve heard that a dozen times or more.”

“But I didn’t do it”. Her eyes narrowed. “Mike did. But I came to believe that I did, somehow. And over the years it became my truth. I mean, I really, really believed that I leapt over that pool like a gazelle. But years later, at a BBQ at Mike’s place, he called me out when I told the story, and worse, Pete was there and backed him up. I played it off that day, and apologized, but the truth stung. It stung like hell. I had to reexamine ALL my stories. And forget about lying to a bunch of coworkers–I was lying to myself, and that’s what really hurt.”

“And that’s why you didn’t say anything tonight?”.

“Yup”.

“And you’ve dropped that story from your repertoire?

“Yup.”

“Well then, okay…”

And we drove home in silence.

TASK:

Don’t be like Jeff. Scrub the BS from your playlist of stories.