This is What You Wanted
Let’s have it right, straight from the off. No point in pussyfooting around and pretending anything different than the truth. I am who you think I am. Yeah, sure, you might have different ideas about who that is but let’s pretend like everyone agrees for a change and take it from there. I can give you what you want. Subject to terms and conditions, of course.
Now, I know you were expecting a lot more dramatic effort and a bit more pizzazz but gone are those days my friend. That was my old-school routine. Had to pander to the stalls, play to the gallery and basically impress the stupid. Nowadays, it’s a lot more business-like and (dare I say) civilised. The basic idea is still the same: – you tell me what you want, I say I can give it to you, there’s a warning about it not being what you expected, you take it anyway and then regret it immensely. See how you just walked right up to my desk here because there wasn’t a queue? Aye, that’s because the trade isn’t all it used to be. See the massive line that snaked all the way out into the street of angry looking people? Well that’s the returns department. That’s where the money is now. That’s where I make my real money.
So, tell me, what do you think the currency of my business is now? Go on, have a wee guess, man, say the first thing you think of. And don’t say souls. Except you just did. Nice one. Everyone says that. That is beyond archaic now, bud. Old-hat, consigned to the history books and the oversold dramatic stories and wild embellishments. Do you have any concept of just how hard it is to try and buy a new pair of kicks or just get a weekly shop in when you open your wallet and all you have are souls?
A currency only stands up if it’s backed by something physical and quantifiable and let me tell you, there is no Fort Knox or Swiss bank account or Bank of England that is holding gold bars or silver ingots as proof of “souls” as currency. I’ve always worked in cold, hard cash. It’s taken many forms, believe you me, these hands have held shekels, pieces of silver, denarius, franks and pounds sterling. The whole “soul” thing is just a metaphor, see, all I want is everything you have. No more and no less. It states it all clearly in the contract, but let’s face it, no one’s taking the time to read it if they’re coming to me.
What? You think it’s a bit crass? A bit cold? Tell me then, do you reckon you still have a soul to even give me? I’ll tell you, chances are you don’t. Thing is, you give it away willingly, piece by piece, every time you work a job you hate or you get held to ransom by a faceless corporation for stuff you pretend you need. You literally hand it out, one morsel at a time, because you reckon “what difference does it make?”. Then you come to me and act all offended when I tell you what’s left where your soul used to be is worth nothing.
There’s been a few memorable transactions, that’s for sure. The one most people seem to remember is that Johnny kid who played the fiddle against me at these crossroads. Everyone listens to that song and feels all superior because I apparently lost and he won. Nonsense. Check the score sheet. He lost the second he decided to enter into the contract. Doesn’t matter that I totally slayed him musically as well. You even heard my part? Man, it was sick. I had a full backing band, totally shredded it, note perfect. He was pretty quick and tuneful but you’re all dreaming if you think he was any better.
What about the ones where the prize is a golden fiddle that I play? First things first, I knocked the whole fiddle thing on the head centuries ago. That was just a phase. Don’t get me wrong, I was pretty decent, played in a few bands and even recorded a demo or two but there’s no career in it for the long term. I just do it for fun now. Anyway, you any idea how bad a gold fiddle would sound? How heavy it would be? The hassle I’d need to go through to get it insured? Not a chance mate, not a snowball’s chance in hell. Nah, that was just a prop. One of my old ones and a can of spray paint. Classy, eh?
People still argue the morals of these stories, forgetting that they are just stories. There doesn’t always have to be a lesson and a message. Sometimes it can just be a little tale to pass the time. Some people say that Johnny boy there lost as soon as he agreed to play me, because it was his pride that made him. Really? You reckon? Some dude calls you on your musical ability and if you rise to it, you lose your soul then and there? Come on now, be reasonable. Dude had bills to pay, I helped him out and got my dues when he passed away. The whole story was just to cover it because he was embarrassed. No one wants to come to me for help.
The catch? Yeah, I’ve gotten pretty famous for that. That’s just a bit of fun I have, to be honest. It isn’t even needed. And if you think about it, none of them have been that bad. It’s not like I’m some sort of diabolical mastermind making up these subtle and devastating punishments for people. They just overreact. Let’s go back to Johnny boy before. Know what his punishment was? What the big catch ended up being? People knew he gambled his soul on a contest because of that song. That was it. Hardly life-destroying, is it? A few old ladies tutting at you in the street because they reckon you’re reckless. Not gonna be the end of the world as you know it, is it?
Five words. That’s all it usually takes. These five simple words that I have hanging above my head there, you see? “This is what you wanted.” That’s all I ask people to remember, and let me tell you, that is usually more than enough to torture them far worse than any irony or inconvenience could. Some people’s worst punishment isn’t failing to achieve what they desire but actually getting what they thought they’d wanted all along.
I know it seems a bit backwards and a little unbelievable but just take a minute to think about it. Look, you can see it’s a quiet day here today and you seem like good people so just have a nice long think about what we’re doing here and try and figure out if you’re a million percent certain. Believe it or not, I don’t take any pleasure in making people feel as angry and disappointed as that furious line you passed were.
Let me give you an example, if you think it’ll help. Let’s say for talking sake that you come to me because you want a load of money. That’s a pretty common one, everyone struggles with money to some extent. People lose sleep over it. Money doesn’t buy you happiness, or so say all the people who have plenty, but it can buy you security and peace of mind. So there you are, coming to me, wanting money. I tell you to be sure it’s what you want and ask you to read the terms and conditions. You probably won’t and you’ll do it anyway because that’s what people do, but long story short, I now get everything you own once you’re gone and you think you’ve come out of the deal better because your money troubles are all sorted…
What’s the catch though? That can be a lot of things. Pretty crude and basic, but it could just be that you splash the cash a bit and someone wonders how you went from brassic lint to rolling in it all of a sudden and people ask questions. You get collared for undeclared income or accused of a crime or get your assets frozen because not only do you not have a good explanation but you’re an idiot into the bargain and this was always going to happen.
The slicker way to do it, the long con if you will, is what I tend to favour. Requires a bit of patience but I don’t view time the same way as you do so I don’t mind twiddling my thumbs for a few years to see the benefits of my unscrupulous seeds. The real showstopper is just to do nothing. There you go, that’s my big secret and don’t tell anyone, but just do nothing. Mad eh? Want to know how that works? Let me tell you. Jump on the internet. Look up broke lottery winners. Read about scratch card successes who lost it all. Peruse the tales of folk getting a lot of money all of a sudden and it ruining their lives. You won’t have to look far, I can promise you that.
Bit of money falls in someone’s lap and if they’re stupid enough to open their mouth then you wouldn’t believe the people that come out of the woodwork. Long lost friends, relatives and acquaintances all just so happen to want to catch up all of a sudden. A renewed interest in how your family is and what you’ve been up to. All sincerity and warmth and selfless kindness. Then they’ll suddenly mention how their pet is ill but the operation is expensive. They’ll shoe-horn in a tale about how they’re behind on the mortgage. Their car has broken down. A child has an expensive school trip coming up and they are broke. Oh, if only someone could help them out. They hate to ask, of course, but since you’re pretty flush now, couldn’t you…
And that’s you. Utterly humped. Total shafted and no-take-backsies. You say “aye” and you turn into everyone’s cashpoint. You say “nah” and you’re the tight-fisted scrooge who wouldn’t even help out a pal. Either way you have all these new problems that you didn’t expect and it’s all because of this money that you thought would help you out.
Worse than that, you won’t have to look far to find folk who have come to physical harm because of some sort of change in their fortunes. Mugged, robbed, threatened, extorted… some of them even get knocked off or have hits put on them. There is no level of depravity that greed won’t drag an otherwise normal, well-adjusted person down to.
It’s not money you’re after? Well, that’s a relief. Could have told me before I’d ranted into that example, but there you go. No worries… no, no. Don’t tell me yet. I’ll give you another few possibilities just in case I can persuade you this is a bad idea. To be honest, if the guy that makes his living out of selling a service to people is advising you not to do it, does that not tell you a little bit about it? I mean, it has to be pretty bad for that to go down, doesn’t it?
What about love? That’s another one. They always come in here, red faced and sputtering with their eyes trained on the carpet and I know as soon as I clap eyes on them what they’re going to ask. I pretend not to though: – I make the awkward wee weasels say the words. I insist that they wax poetic about the object of their affection and let me know in intimate detail why their life would be perfect if only they were with that person. Some of the things they say, man, I tell you, I’ve hidden more laughs behind these hands here than most of you do in a lifetime.
They mumble and ramble about all these grand sounding ideals and thoughts: about soul mates and parts that complete them. They try to convince me that all they need in this world is for that person to feel the same way and then everything will be fine and, to my shame, I encourage them. They seem to think I can’t deal in love, like some form of substandard genie, but I can.
Surely you can guess how that one goes, right? I mean, you can figure that out all by yourself I’m sure? Human nature sorts that one out for me without any sort of interference. These poor dafties aren’t in love, how can they be? Most of them don’t even know the person properly. They’ve fallen hard in lust and they can’t see the difference. So I let time show them. Don’t get me wrong, the gratification they feel the first few times is probably like no other emotion that they ever felt but whether they admit it or not, they can feel the shine coming off in tiny pieces. Chip by chip, the magic and the mystery flakes away. The gold coating that they’ve put on this person and the marble pedestal that they’ve placed them on crumble atom by atom, so slowly that you can barely see it happening, but one day they look up and (who knew this was coming) their Paramore is just a run-of-the-mill person like themselves: – fundamentally flawed.
Still, they insist on complaining. They come in here ranting and raving, red in the face with self-righteous indignation, accusing me of manipulating the situation so that the guy or gal they set their heart on turned out to not be what they expected. They ignore their own flaws. They plead ignorance as though their unrealistic expectations are anyone’s fault but their own. None of them ever question that your so-called “soul-mate” almost always happens to live nearby. That they happen to speak the same language as you. Happen to be roughly the same age.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Total spoilsport. I’ve heard it all. I’m just bitter because no one loves me or I loved someone who didn’t love me back. First off, let me tell you unequivocally that you cannot love someone you don’t know properly. Stop trying to kid yourself. You are mental. Second, I don’t think having a realistic view ruins it for everyone else. If you want to believe that even if you were born in Papua New Guinea, you’d still end up with your current squeeze, then more power to you, pal. But don’t try and make me believe your ludicrous fantasy. You are not getting my buy-in to that fairy tale.
Think about all the people you know that have split up or divorced, right? Especially the ones with kids. Just have a quick think. It won’t take you long. That seems to be the currency of the current age. You convince yourself of this kid’s story nonsense and when the other person shows flaws you toss the baby out with the bathwater. Don’t be smug because you’re young and in love. Think of the worst separated couple you know. The ones that can’t be in the same room as one another. The ones that can’t keep a civil tongue in their heads for two minutes while handing off the kids like pass the miserable parcel. Any time you feel arrogant or superior, just remember that for a small time at least, they were like you are now. Us against the world. We’ll never end up like that. People, man. They’re the biggest head-cannon you’ll ever get.
What else could you be after? A smart young man like yourself? Promotion? Is that it? Don’t even think it bud. I’ll get you that unexpected promotion and it’ll be nothing like what you expect. There’ll be more stress, there’ll be more appointments and meetings. The people you thought were your friends at work will stop speaking to you because you’re management now. The problem with a sudden advance like that is that people aren’t stupid. They are stupid, I know, but not in some ways. They have a good idea of who deserved that promotion. They know who put in the graft or spent the time under the managers table. You getting it out of nowhere means you’ve bladed someone or really got the kneepads out in earnest. Neither of these things is good.
If you want someone back from the dead then I’m afraid you’re totally out of luck. Death and taxes, the only two certainties in life. I could help you swerve your taxes though? No? Look, if I brought people back then we’d be living forty folk deep in two storey high-rises all of a sudden. Not gonna happen, so forget it. Not possible, even for me. Besides, it’s the only thing that really makes you alive. Embrace it, you ungrateful git.
Fame? Ah, it is fame, isn’t it? Should have known. You want people to recognise your face and remember your name. It’s OK, don’t take a beamer, that’s pretty common. Just look at some of the wretches in the spotlight nowadays. Famous for being famous. What can you really say to make that any more insulting than it already is all by itself? The modern world, god bless it, means that we have managed to bypass the crucial segment of being famous that involves having talent. People are famous for being on reality shows. People are famous because their parents are or were famous. People are famous for being stupid. That last one is not a joke. They say something idiotic on a viral video: – famous. They angrily object to the real answer to a straightforward question: – famous.
That’s how I get you there. You think that, at worst, you’ll pop onto a talent show and the public will lap up your sob story and take you all the way to the final. You reckon you’ll be busking in the street and some dude in a suit will roll up on you and force a seven-figure contract in your hand. Maybe you’ll be doodling in a café and an art dealer will demand to frame your napkin and sell it at auction.
In reality, maybe I’ll make sure you fall over while in the front row of a world-wide news segment. Maybe your trousers will fall down as you graduate. Maybe you’ll get interviewed and say something so ridiculous that it spreads around the globe quicker than you could ever have thought possible. Maybe everyone will know your name, but it might not be for the reasons you expect.
Have I talked you out of it yet? You seem unsure. Let me give you an alternative. Just plod away with what you’re doing. Be happy with your lot. “He is the richest, who is content with the least.” You don’t need to take it to extremes and live in a cave with nothing and no one, but there’s plenty people worse off than you. Mediocrity is no great tragedy. Suck it up, buttercup.
Don’t worry, I know you won’t tell anyone about all this. Who on earth would believe you anyway? I don’t expect to see you back either, right? Otherwise the catch will be both hilarious and brutal. Want to peek under the desk and check if I have hooves before you go? See if my hair is slicked to cover some horns? All lies, bud, I’m just a normal dude like the rest of you. People get pissy when their dreams aren’t all they wanted and they take it out on me. Sympathy is not what I’m after. I do hope you’ve guessed my name though. Nothing? Really? These are stellar references, man. You are way too young.
Go on, get out. Do me a favour though, eh? Tell each of these people lodging a complaint that this is what they wanted. Just do it. Whisper it in their ears. Scream it in their faces. Makes no odds to me. Just do it, at least once. You’ll never feel better.
