I said something about John Brown. I said it with an air of excitement so as to make others sit up.
Later, I got a note that asked, “Who is John Brown?”
My reply was terse: “Google him.”
In an instant, my response was on its way. I’d had a long, bad day, and what I said amounted to, “Look it up yourself.” Except…
Except after that quip was on its way, and perhaps even before it arrived at its destination, it occurred to me that perhaps (and this is not an unlikely explanation) perhaps they didn’t know what “Google him” means. Perhaps, I thought, my answer might be nothing more than gibberish.
It sent a shiver down my spine.
I imagined myself sitting in a comfy chair years hence struggling to keep up with all those new-fangled toys that everyone seems to use. I imagined myself comfortable in my chair, satisfied with the old toys I have, needing no new ones. I imagined feeling as if the cool kids were all talking about stuff I didn’t understand and yet everytime I asked for help they replied in tongues. I imagined myself asking that very question, “Who is John Brown?” and having the reply sent back to me that said … “Farfinargle him.”
And so it will happen. One day I will pay dearly for this snippiness. It will all be served back at me just the way I served it out. And with that frightful vision staring at me from the future, I am forced to confess belatedly, “I am sorry.”