Conference Pertaining to the Extraction of Negative/Guilt via Prayer & Meditation

So, then they're having this conference "Pertaining to the Extraction of Negative/Guilt via Prayer & Meditation" in the Cheney/Julali Auditorium, hoping they'll fetch a dozen or so government workers inbetween tasks and projects in order they get credit to be reimbursed for the conference's expenses...and, as usual, about half as many are in the audience, mostly just looking for somewhere to be. 

At least no one's on drugs. At least no one's talking loud today. At least they've lowered the obligation on how many of these things we have to do every month. 

I arrive ten minutes early. There're a couple dozen people, mostly by themselves and surrounded by empty chairs, with some in pairs, so that I won't draw attention to myself if I sit next to Charlie. 

He's by himself, in the right-front section of the auditorium, where you can see the speaker's face and hear them without straining yourself. 

"Funny meeting you here," I say, walking sideways and holding chairbacks while moving in his direction. 

"Hey." He recognizes me. I sit down with a seat between us. "How's it going?" 

"Well, I'm here," I say, "but don't let's speak too soon." 

He absorbs this. "I'm not sure I got your name before. I'm Charlie." 

Handsomely pleased with myself: "Paul." I said, "And I don't think either of us said." I said, "I was hoping I'd remember your shirt." 

"Good call." He looks back up. "So what's your interest in this thing?" 

I could tell him I'm killing time. I could tell him I'm studying holistic medicine. I'm smart enough I could outright lie and still keep him on the fence for two days. "For work, kinda sorta. Everything benefits what I do." 

He's listening. He has this doughy complexion that rates above being homely or ugly. Kind, watchful eyes. He never loses a word. "Is it alright if I ask specifically?" 

"Ask." 

A pause. "Now?" 

"Now." 

"What do you do?" 

"I'm in Communications. A lot of notetaking, bad ideas. Changing of regimes." Officially, it's the American-Tequistani Ministry of Communications, or you can use an acronym nobody cares for, or you can use any of the most recent degrading euphemisms, or any of the old ones, too. (Personal favorite: The Chamber of Sterile Lies Not Without Hope In Discovering A Useful Home.) "What you said about math before: I think most of my co-workers are in your classes." 

"Oh, my god," he says. "Can I tell you a story? Just one quick dumb story?" 

Somebody walks onto the stage. But I keep my focus on Charlie. "Make it really good," I say. 

"So," he tells me, keeping his voice low so that we don't distract the conference's speaker. "We're all s'pose' to be doing this exercise-- this is in class the other day. There's this exercise where you take a bunch of information about two parties trading with each other -- and they both have different advantages and disadvantages, right? -- and you pick -- you actually pick which side you want to be on -- and then you decide which of your advantages to press or surrender in order to persuade the other party, right? All you have to do to get a passing-grade? Make an argument in a page or less." He waits a minute. "That's it." 

I've heard this one before. Or something not far from it. "So which child prodigy raised their hand first?" 

"The dumbest one with functioning motor-control." It's an old expression. "This kid named Andrew Carlisle. He's not a freshman. Like my age, so 23, 24. He asks the teacher, serious as you please, What if neither party is willing to negotiate?" Incredulity. 

I pretend to be at a loss for words. The woman giving the lecture on prayer & meditation is par for the course, meaning no one who's been here for more than twelve months really learns anything new; they just get a convenient reminder on a layered subject. 

I enjoy talking with Charlie. More than I should. We're not meant to fraternize, even though everyone does, for worry (read: fear) that this will contribute to vulnerability for American-Tequistan in relationship to outside forces/enemies.... I tell an equally semi-interesting story while we sample pieces of the speaker's pronounced insights. 

At least we don't work for a government-centered metal-or-lumber company. Those poor souls that always look like Sisyphus at middle age.  

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