Don’t be a Dick.

I watch the following exchange happen between two people — one a wheel-chair bound older gent with silver sparks in his hair, the other a 20-something fat black man.  But even those descriptors are meaningless — I’ll just say two guys.

“Do you know what time it is?”


Awkward silence follows, the older gent smiles self-knowingly, the fat black guy stutters.  It is at this point that I think to myself, “Quit being a Dick,” which can be brought out as “Just tell him the time or don’t.”

“So, um, would you tell me what time it is?”

“Sure.”  He looks at his watch.  “2:55.”


“You asked me the wrong question.  You asked me if I knew what time it was.  I did.  I answered your question.”

I turn to him, thinking if he was going to play this stupid game he may as well have gone all the way, and say, “You answered him incorrectly, because you did not know   You did not know what time it was until you looked at your watch.”

He apparently did not catch what I said, because he remained smug, reiterating how he answered the question.

Please.  I beg of everybody.  Don’t be a Dick.  Running for the literal as a means of toying with your fellow citizens does not behoove anyone.

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