And so the noise continues. And not just any noise. Not the gentle hum of the air against the aluminum tin into which we are crammed, or the drone of engines fighting for thrust. No; this noise is more penetrating, a bullet hole, an exposed nerve in sub zero temperatures. This is a cacophony of noise in the first person. A litany of “I” and “me” and “then I” and “it’s amazing that I”s that is as relentless as it is boastful. The pauses for breath are few but precious, counted in nanoseconds, a silence which his unfortunate row-mate feels compelled to fill with the “Wow’s” that are taken as ‘please continue, only with more volume, more self interest, less sense of other people being around and punchlines to each story that are identifiable as such only by your laughter and the shake of your swollen head.”
And in the moments that you’re not imagining pushing a spike through the soft part of his brain responsible for speech you’re wondering what life must be like for those around him, Because this man sees himself as a motivator, as a coach, as a shining example of how self belief can overcome any obstacle. To his kids he will be first a hero, then a bully, then a figure to be kept at a distance, before eventually becoming a story as short as it is tragic. “My dad? Yeah, he was an asshole.”
You see them, these guys. On touchlines everywhere. In shorts. Urging the kids on. And of course these days you see them on TV too. Most famously Survivor’s biggest planet of one ‘Coach’… men too caught up in the rhythm of their speech and the energy of their telling to notice the slight recoil or the open disbelief of their ‘audience’
Some make a fortune as ‘motivational speakers’ – telling those cursed with meekness and manners that the way to ‘get on in life’ is to blast right through it, picking up ‘pearls of wisdom’ as you go. But there’s never any real wisdom there. Because these guys are all about the reaction to a sound-bite. They live for a ‘that was deep’ reaction, not for moments that are deep. Skimming along on a a thin surface of polite strangers and people caught too deep in their web to disappear to a quieter space.
And much as you may want to hurt them. To point out their folly, to highlight the reactions of the people around them, you don’t. Because there’s no room in the conversation. And no hope of getting through. These are guys who don’t know things they believe them and their belief is unshakable. They’re the assholes that love the military but wouldn’t join it, that love their wives but wouldn’t say no to the hooker in the bar, who’ll give you a piece of their mind – even though they don’t seem to have much to spare.
And they’re always, always, seated behind me.