This story is a great example of dramaturgy; the theory that assumes we are all “fronting” by our attempts to manage the impressions others come to have of us. I’m talking about the performances we put on for others. We attempt to successfully act out our chosen role, or act according to the role identity associated with it. We act it out in as a believable manner as possible. We can use props to enhance the effect of the act. We do that by withholding certain information about us that may cast us in a negative light. Meanwhile we go ahead and emphasize information that will paint us in a good light.
The following is an incident I witnessed while growing up that had all to do with managing impressions. This unpleasant incident happened during JHS. I had a friend named Jim who was very socially adept and streetwise. He was a bright kid. This guy wasn’t your ordinary kid. He managed to pull off some of the most amazing stunts I have ever witnessed. This is just one example of his cleverness.
Like most kids, I had a number of friends while growing up. But the one friend sticks out as the most fun and adventurous persons I’ve ever met. In fact, I owe him a debt of gratitude for inspiring my own sense of curiosity and imagination. Terry wasn’t just a friend; he was like the US Navy; he was an adventure! With him around, you just never knew how your day was going to turn out. At times this can be risky and dangerous, but I do have to admit, Terry was never boring.
One night as we were walking home from the bus stop, Terry pointed to a familiar house in the neighborhood and asked me, “Have you ever noticed that there are never any lights on at that house?” Honestly, I had never given that house much thought. Perhaps it was because there never was anything going on at that house.
The further the conversation went, the more I could see what he was getting at. Terry told me that there were never any lights on at that house because the lady who lived there was blind. His reasoning made sense. Completely blind people don’t need light. He had my attention.
Terry said, “Watch this. Come on, follow me.” Terry bounded up the sidewalk towards the house. This was an immediate red flag. I had absolutely no clue where this adventure was heading. But Terry seemed to be on some sort of mission. He was acting confident like he had a plan. This is where things with him usually got interesting. I decided I had better tag along for the adventure. Little did I know what I was getting into?
Terry waited at the front door for me to catch up to him. As soon as I joined him, he began ringing the doorbell. Whatever was going to happen next was anybody’s guess. What actually happened next was something I could never have seen coming.
As we were waiting to see if anyone was home to answer the door, the front porch light went on; and sure enough a blind lady answered the door.
“Hello, can I help you?” She asked in this meek voice; her eyes looking no where in particular.
“Mrs. Wilson, this is Terry.”
“Oh, hello Terry, what can I do for you?”
“We were wondering if you had any yard work, or work around the house we could do to earn some spending money?”
To my utter surprise, Terry started acting weird. He began acting like he was unscrewing her breasts. Then he acted like he had screwed them off and was now juggling them. Then he acted like he was replacing them by screwing them back on.
I was absolutely flabbergasted! What the hell was he doing??? Evidently these shenanigans were designed to prove to me that Mrs. Wilson was actually blind. Despite my concerns, I couldn’t help but laugh. I tried to laugh quietly, but the humor of the situation was making that a difficult task.
Mrs. Wilson ended up telling us that she was willing to help us out. She instructed us to come back on Saturday to help her pick some of the overgrown weeds in her backyard. We agreed, said goodbye, and left. I was having mixed feelings about this whole chain of events, and again I kept silent, along for the ride.
Saturday we met up with Mrs. Wilson for our chores. She was seated in the backyard wearing a large shade hat. She was fumbling around with five or six wicker baskets that were placed next to her lawn chair.
From her empresses’ chair, Mrs. Wilson laid out the ground rules. We would first pick some weeds. Then, we would place them in one of the wicker baskets. For each of the wicker baskets we filled up, she would pay us 50-cents. That arrangement seemed fair, so I immediately went ahead and began picking some weeds. Terry also began picking weeds, but he was moving slow and doing more procrastinating than picking. He only filled up two wicker basket of weeds.
Mrs. Wilson’s system was quite simple: she would have us file by her chair where she placed her hand in the wicker basket. She would feel around to make sure it was full, and then pay us two quarters for each basket she approved of. Terry’s plan was more sinister. He would pick enough weeds to fill two wicker baskets. He would then take them to Mrs. Wilson to get paid.
The problem was that Terry only picked two baskets and was paid $10. What he would do was take one full basket, place it next to her chair. She would feel its contents and then she would pay Terry. But Terry actually stopped picking weeds after he had filled up two wicker baskets worth. His scheme was that he kept on taking the same two baskets to Mrs. Wilson; over and over again. Meanwhile, I was playing for real and actually picking weeds. By this time I felt horrible and hoped this scenario would soon end. Talk about awkward.
I felt that even participating in such a scam was going to be trouble. However, I was too young and shy to have any real opinion, so I just shut my mouth and never protested. I went along with the gag. After we got paid for our work, I felt horrible and vowed never to do something like that again. Yet, despite my uneasiness, I do have to admit, the whole incident was extremely clever. Thus, my intentions here are not to paint this story in a good light. But I must admit, this friend of mine did impress me with how he had thought through this clever scam. Let me just say for the record, I could never have agreed to participate in this con had I known it would ever hurt such a nice old lady. My conscience is begging me not to even finish writing this story. But to no avail… is there such a thing as guilt writing?
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pete padilla petepadilla.com