I don’t want to know what I don’t already know. Understand? I know that I know something, which is more than enough to get by. My global expertise happens to be conveniently self-sustaining. What can I possibly learn from someone else? Asking too many questions runs the risk of ruining a good thing. It’s why I don’t stir soup that’s plated directly in front of me. I assume whatever’s in the bottom – fish, fowl or farro - is there for a reason. Why scoop to see it? Surprise, hope you can digest dairy.
Why waste years of your life accruing experience before spouting off? Seems to me that’s something which ought to occur immediately. I’ve routinely found myself lecturing superiors about a wide variety of subjects. An interview is a great time to scold your interviewer on the proper use of the subjunctive.
The less I know about something, the simpler the answer has to be. Why would something be so complicated that I of all people can’t comprehend? That I don’t understand. Why? Because it doesn’t make any sense. It’s why I’ve been able to make a career reviewing books and movies I’ve never read. I don’t need to. I see a cover, a blurb, and form a strong opinion right then and there.
Am I really going to be humbled by someone with greater knowledge and deeper insights? Are these mysterious figures going to explain why “hand-cut fries” while cut by hand aren’t cut with hands? I doubt it. They’ll probably argue that a good Henckel does the job in ways a smooth palm never can. Maybe. Maybe not. But I want to see a steaming hot potato block sliced with the side of someone’s paw. Then, and only then, will I refer to fries as “hand-cut.” You see, these are the answers I’m after. But they aren’t the answers I’m getting. What are second-degree burns compared to retaining your integrity?
Because an unexamined life is definitely worth living.
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