2005-09-12
I (sometimes) Cannot Tell A Lie
On Thursday, Time reported that Mike Brown had misrepresented his professional qualifications, noting that Brown�s official biography says that he was the �Assistant City Manager� in Edmond, Oklahoma. In fact, he was assistant to the city manager, which is �more like an intern.� Brown has denied padding his r�sum�, blaming mistakes on the White House and on FEMA for misrepresenting his background.
Mm hm.
Look, people �flesh out� their r�sum�s all the time. Went into Photoshop once and figured out how to superimpose Carrot Top�s head on GI Joe�s body? Add �Photoshop� to your list of software experience! What � is there gonna be a TEST or something? Come on � doesn�t everybody do it?
I don�t.
I wish I could sit here and say that my reasons for never lying about/exaggerating/obfuscating my c.v. are purely moralistic. Certainly my parents raised me to understand that lying, for the most part, isn�t cool, and that I should not kid myself by thinking that I would get off scot-free if I lied about something. There are always ramifications.
No, I don�t lie about my r�sum� for the simple fact that experience has taught me that I WILL GET CAUGHT.
A cautionary tale: in second grade, I had already long been seized with a fierce desire to stand apart from the rest of my peers by virtue of sheer, prodigious talent. I had become aware that there were children my age doing remarkable things, such as donning a red fright wig and shrieking, �I LOVE YA, tomorrow!� to hoards of appreciative adults.
The problem was that I just wanted these gifts to be magically bestowed upon me. I wanted the output, but without having to make any effort to achieve said output (I�m still plagued by this now and again). A baffling attitude, really, considering that my own family was proof positive that one does not get anywhere by just waiting for something to happen.
Nonetheless, when my teacher announced that we were going to have a little talent show, I was nearly overcome with excitement. At last � my chance to excel at something other than being a spastic know-it-all! As we went around the room announcing what talents we would share with the class, I pondered what it was that I was going to do. It was true enough that I could make my classmates laugh. Perhaps I would go up and tell a funny story. I was milling this around in my head when I heard pretty little Patty, a diminutive blonde angel frequently chosen to lead the May Day procession in honor of the Blessed Mother, announce that she would play piano. And I was suddenly gripped by a potent combination of fear and envy, an intoxicating emotional eightball that would inform many, MANY poor decisions for years to come.
This could not be. A seven-year-old Van Cliburn would not outshine me. I desperately rattled through my other options when I remembered my older brother�s trumpet. Now, this � THIS was unique. And, really, how hard could it be to figure out? And so it was with great stupidity tempered by great confidence that I announced: �I�m going to PLAY THE TRUMPET!�
Well. Several of my classmates turned around in their chairs to regard me in an entirely new light indeed. �You can play the trumpet? Wow!� I basked in this newfound awe and respect and silently congratulated myself for making such a good decision under considerable duress. I looked over at pretty little Patty and gleefully detected a hint of resignation in the slope of her shoulders.
I gave no more thought to it until the morning of the talent show, when I breezily announced to my mother over breakfast: �I need Billy�s trumpet for school today.�
�Why?�
�Because I�m going to play it at the talent show.�
�You don�t know how to play the trumpet, honey.�
I began to sense that things were not going my way. �But I SAID I was going to. I told EVERYBODY.�
�Well, you told a fib is what you did. And besides -- it�s Billy�s trumpet. You�re not taking it to school.�
�But MAAAA! What am I going to DO?!�
�You�re going to go in and tell your teacher you lied. Period.� When my mother ended an argument thus, I knew it was useless to continue.
When I got to school, I dragged myself up to the teacher�s desk and spilled the musical beans. There would be no dazzling display of trumpeting prowess on my part, because as it turned out � funnily enough � I had no frigging idea how to play. The humiliation was palpable, and to this day � some 28 years later � I still cringe at the memory, so much so that this is the first time I�ve actually admitted it AT ALL, let alone in writing.
Now, this having been said, I haven�t spent the last 28 years maintaining anything like rigorous honesty, but I sure as shit know that when I DO lie, it�s never gonna turn out good. If I were to make something up on my r�sum�, I just KNOW that I�d get nailed for it. Period.
lisamcc at 10:32 a.m.
2 comments so far
Lexi
2005-09-16 12:54:19
You fucking rock. Another Lisa McC essay that needs to be sent somewhere, accepted, published, paid for and read by many. It's like having Lucille Ball and David Sedaris balled up in one bespectacled, snarling JP chick.
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Kelsie
2005-09-17 00:30:24
When I was in kindergarden I couldnt get my pants undone, and ended up wetting them, then pretending I had not. I bald face lied about it. Did you wet your pants? Me? Heck no, why would you think that? I'm dry like August. Shut up.
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