In today’s terribly politically correct world it is not good to be an –ist.
Any sort of –ist.
We’re very conscious of not judging people based on race, language, hair colour, sex – you name it.
The thing is though, that no matter how PC we try to be, every one has some sort of personal judgment criteria we use when deciding whether to like someone or not.
How many Star Wars movies are there?
The correct answer is 3 and those ‘other sci-fi movies’.
If your answer is any more than 3 you are dead to him.
You can tell a lot about a person by their answer.
If you do not know about the Trojan Rabbit or Flying Sheep you fall considerably in my esteem.
I acknowledge that these criteria are unfair and prejudiced, but so far one cannot be prosecuted for being Monty Pythonist.
No doubt that will change.
A week or so ago the Office Balcony Bunch were discussing this system of classification.
Yesterday, one of my colleagues admitted that he did not in fact know who or what Monty Python was and had to go home and Google it.
Myself and another MP classifier looked at him in horror.
Straight thereafter he proceeded to tell us that one of his pair of parrots has died.
This rendered myself and my fellow MP fan into hysterics – because – the Parrot Sketch!
“Maybe he was just stunned?” interjected the MP fan.
By now, we were weeping.
Another colleague looked at us in shock and sternly admonished us, “Isn’t it sad? It is terribly sad!”
“Oh yes,” I stumbled, hiding my mouth, “It’s very very sad.”
“What do you think he should do?” she demanded.
I racked my brain.
“Perhaps, he should get a mirror so the other one doesn’t feel lonely,” I answered.
“Don’t be fatuous,” was the reply.
“Um…” I thought harder, “Maybe he should get the dead one taxidermied and tie it to on the perch?”
Well, I thought that was a quite reasonable solution.
Apparently, that was an inappropriate reaction in the face of all-consuming grief.
Except that the ex-parrot owner seemed to consider it and said, “I could’ve done that. Pity, I already threw the body in the trash.”
“The trash!” squeaked the admonisher, “You didn’t even give it a proper funeral?”