EXCESSIVE PROFICIENCY

The futility and absurdity of the Face Match could not be more clear. The competition consists of placing on easels random photos of the town’s inhabitants and asking contestants to attach names to the faces. Some have trouble with the cosseted millionaires who live east of Barner Avenue on Hampshire Street, in colossal mansions secreted behind gates and hedges. Others stumble over humble visages such as Dan Wendle, who runs the auto garage, or Patricia Foor, the school principal. But are these failures equal? A new book by the sociologist Anna Jackson, Reflections and Deflections, argues that knowing the names of the wealthy denizens of an exclusive neighborhood that has several times demonstrated its disdain for the broader town is a skill prized primarily by the grasping and the green-eyed. "Excessive proficiency," she writes, "which involves correctly identifying of not only the men and women who own the homes, but their minor children as well, and their pets, and even their horses when horses are kept, is possible only for a thoroughgoing tufthunter or toady." On the other hand, even Jackson concedes that she cannot remember the name of the deli guy.

©2021 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas

FIGHT THE POWER

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled 

An unusual scene transpired yesterday at Three Points Elementary School, a first-grader twice struggling violently with the name tag tacked beneath his cubbyhole and finally tearing it away with a wild outburst of profanity. The perpetrator was Kevin, six, who was taken into the hall by the teacher and charged with disruptive behavior. He explained that he had become frustrated by the cubby system, which he found “stupid” and “annoying,” an arrangement that “[made] people feel like babies,” and vowed that if the name tag was restored he would rip it down again and again utter “wrong words.”  This was not the first offense for Kevin, who earlier in the year approached a teacher on the street and asked her what she was doing out of school, and who last year attempted to organize all the other kindergarteners around demands of a four-day school week. He was remanded for inquiries as to his political philosophy and general disregard for authority.

BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR STRONG FALL SLATES

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

A gathering of clairvoyants, astrologers, fortunetellers, prophesiers, soothsayers, mystics, and seers of all stripes met in the field house at Leggett Park to prepare for the new year, after which they issued a summary of their forthcoming annual report. The language in the summary, which prominently featured words such as “dire,” “woeful,” and “ruinous,” attracted  the attention of the press to such a degree that the group’s spokesperson, who goes by the name Future Jack, convened a press conference at which he cautioned against making too much of the summary. “Every year has its ups and downs,” he said. “We just feel that the downs are coming early. It will be clearer when the annual is released.” While he was reluctant to reveal any specific details, Future Jack made reference to a war, a contested election, a rapidly-spreading fire in at a major population center, a pandemic, and the death of at least two beloved entertainers. “But after that,” he said, “We feel it’ll be a relatively low-key year, boring even.” He encouraged reporters to be on the lookout for strong fall slates from all major networks and not one but two Royal babies. “And Mary Laughlin of Amarillo, Texas,” he added, “play the lottery.” The reporters laughed both knowingly and not, as if unsure if he was joking. 

WRAPPING UP THE SEASON

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

The John Wilton “Mindreader” ensemble has performed more than one hundred thousand transferences this year, in each instance drawing on the inner thoughts of members of the ruling class, whether elected officials or captains of industry or those charged with designing and distributing the nation’s entertainment. Once a set of thoughts are collected, the ensemble renders it as prose or sometimes free verse, attaches an appropriate title (“I Wish I Were On An Island,” “Religious Conversion? Perhaps?” “Maybe I Need A New Relationship”), and places it in a large leather binder, which is then shelved alongside other binders in the Wilton Library in Norfolk, Virginia. With a thousand more readings scheduled this month, the season will then come to an end. It will, however, resume in the fall. The current manager of the ensemble, Louisa Wilton—the granddaughter of the original founder—has said that the group is looking to establish satellites of the national company that would be able to concentrate on the inner thoughts of more regional and local figures of power, such as mayors, school principals, and influential small businesspeople. “The goal of our library is to eventually include everyone,” she said. “We have four floors overground and four more underground, and when we run out of space, we can build.”

SOME STAYED OPEN

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

First the snow came, and then came the rain, and the wet weight of it overtaxed the power lines, and a transformer on the east side of the city caught on fire, and the outage began to ripple through the neighborhood. In late afternoon, the stores crowded with busy buyers, many purchasing a variety of illuminants. By evening, fog had added to the distress of us all, accentuating the misery of the darkened streets. Without power, most shops closed at dusk. Some stayed open with candlepower, though in other cases they were deemed useless and even dangerous, such as at the paper store and the hay store. Even where candles were used, they twinkled weakly through the mist. The strangest sight was reserved for the following morning, where melted candles were set out on sidewalks, most extinguished, a few still flickering, seeming to kindle first the rising sun and then the electricity itself, which flew back into view precisely at dawn.

THE WHOLE OF HARPER’S OFFER

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

A fraudster was nabbed in a swell manner at Haddon Heights. He was Lee Harper, 72, who introduced himself around town as a photographer working on a series of portraits of the most beautiful people in the state. He called up Jessica Loos, the owner of the Tumbledown Diner, and represented that he had heard from several of the town’s most reliable citizens that the series would not be complete without the inclusion of her picture. He then asked Ms. Loos if she would like to pay a small deposit to guarantee her place in a book that would collect the show’s best images. He fully expected the volume to be a brisk seller and explained further that in exchange for her deposit she would in fact be a part owner of the entire project, entitled to a portion of the profits from the book or any other products that followed. But Loos had heard of the man, and in the time between his call and his arrival she contacted the police, with the result that a detective, crouched behind the lunch counter, heard the whole of Harper’s offer. “I can’t believe this ended so soon,” Harper said when the detective emerged from his spot. “This was only my second stop.” Harper denied that his camera was not loaded with film, and added that Loos was in fact breathtaking.

IN THE CHICANE ROOM

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

Avramides’s Mirror, to which Gorham made reference in his speech, is a conundrum developed to illustrate the confusion of the mind between reality and representation: in the hypothetical scenario, a starving man stumbles into a room, sees breads and meats arrayed on a table, realizes that they are merely a reflection, but does not understand which way to turn to locate the original foodstuffs. The figuration is not to be found in Avramides’s work (he was Chair of the Philosophy Department at Panteion) and was probably dreamed up by Gorham to ridicule the professor’s theory of  mimetic disorientation. There is no record of any man, even one compromised by hunger, falling victim to confusion of this sort, and it seems better suited for a slapstick film than for a putatively straightforward lecture. Gotham, after concluding his speech, was the guest of honor at a private reception in the Historical Society’s Chicane Room, named not after trickery but after Alice Chicane, the inventor of the neonatal capsule and one of the chief benefactors of the Society. At the reception, he answered student questions about finance and industry, chatted with several of the society’s members, and flirted with at least two women, both of whom reported that he would, after only a few seconds, turn away from them to look instead at their reflection in the mirror.