gullibility
One of these days I'll learn to believe Cameron when he tells me something that initially sounds absurd.
As some readers of his poetic and allusive journal may know, nullsurface was Teamaster for 2007's Playford. At some point during the course of the afternoon, as a pleasant and relaxed walkthrough was in progress in the main part of the hall, I wandered over to the area around the kitchen doors. Cameron was preparing some tables for the forthcoming bounty of baked goods, and for some reason I asked him where Rachel F was. He looked straight at me and replied, 'Under the table.' I laughed briefly and vigorously told him that if he expected me to believe that, he was much mistaken. I forget exactly what happened -- Rachel may have peered out from under the table or called my name -- but in short order, I was peering underneath the table to see her affixing a colorful skirt to the underside of the table. Er...
This past weekend, we were both on a cross-country skiing trip in western NY with a group of dancing friends. He and I both left our respective workplaces slightly early and made our way to Sedgewick to drive north with Geoffrey and Cecily. We didn't reach the guest house until late at night, like 22.30 or later. As I was collecting an armful of stuff from the car for my first unloading trip *into* the house, Cameron passed me on his way *back* to the car from his first trip and said, 'There's something scary right inside the door.' I must've glanced at him blankly, but I didn't understand what he meant and I was more concerned with lugging this STUFF inside to get out of the cold. I push open the door...and come almost eye-to-eye with a life-size plastic figure of a butler, wearing a black suit with lace cravat, looking dourly at me with a sickly green face and dark-lined eyes, and making scary and sinister statements in a sepulchral voice. I don't like being startled, and I'm not easily scared, but I was then! My heart was definitely racing. Wheeew! I stood around for a minute or two, trying to regain some equilibrium; meanwhile Cameron just laughed at me, and Terry told me to stop standing around and carry stuff inside.
What baffles me is that I'm usually so gullible, really. I fall for jokes and ridiculous sarcasm, and if the friend sounds like he knows what he's talking about, I'll believe him. But for some unknown reason, I seem to have decided that I'm going to stand my ground and be dubious about things Cameron says...then they turn out to be true!
Of course, I also have that bad habit of *directly* colliding with him whenever there's general chaos during a chase figure...
As some readers of his poetic and allusive journal may know, nullsurface was Teamaster for 2007's Playford. At some point during the course of the afternoon, as a pleasant and relaxed walkthrough was in progress in the main part of the hall, I wandered over to the area around the kitchen doors. Cameron was preparing some tables for the forthcoming bounty of baked goods, and for some reason I asked him where Rachel F was. He looked straight at me and replied, 'Under the table.' I laughed briefly and vigorously told him that if he expected me to believe that, he was much mistaken. I forget exactly what happened -- Rachel may have peered out from under the table or called my name -- but in short order, I was peering underneath the table to see her affixing a colorful skirt to the underside of the table. Er...
This past weekend, we were both on a cross-country skiing trip in western NY with a group of dancing friends. He and I both left our respective workplaces slightly early and made our way to Sedgewick to drive north with Geoffrey and Cecily. We didn't reach the guest house until late at night, like 22.30 or later. As I was collecting an armful of stuff from the car for my first unloading trip *into* the house, Cameron passed me on his way *back* to the car from his first trip and said, 'There's something scary right inside the door.' I must've glanced at him blankly, but I didn't understand what he meant and I was more concerned with lugging this STUFF inside to get out of the cold. I push open the door...and come almost eye-to-eye with a life-size plastic figure of a butler, wearing a black suit with lace cravat, looking dourly at me with a sickly green face and dark-lined eyes, and making scary and sinister statements in a sepulchral voice. I don't like being startled, and I'm not easily scared, but I was then! My heart was definitely racing. Wheeew! I stood around for a minute or two, trying to regain some equilibrium; meanwhile Cameron just laughed at me, and Terry told me to stop standing around and carry stuff inside.
What baffles me is that I'm usually so gullible, really. I fall for jokes and ridiculous sarcasm, and if the friend sounds like he knows what he's talking about, I'll believe him. But for some unknown reason, I seem to have decided that I'm going to stand my ground and be dubious about things Cameron says...then they turn out to be true!
Of course, I also have that bad habit of *directly* colliding with him whenever there's general chaos during a chase figure...