I work for a piss-poor charity. It’s run by a group of guys, so no surprise it punches way above its weight. We don’t ‘shoe-horn’ something into position; we ‘crow-bar’ the fucker.
Does this mean our amazing achievements – of obtaining blood form stones, for example – are the result of superior muscle and brain power? Er, no; it’s because we keep our friendships in good repair which, translated into practicality, means we know to whom we owe favours.
It amazes me how many guys are casual about understanding the importance of favours. In the WMD Guide it makes the point that the difference between a Friend
and an acquaintance is that to a Friend you have obligations, largely as a result of favours done in the past. Over the years, when the shit’s hit the fan, he’s always been there with his back for you, and vice-versa.
What I think’s intriguing is how this ‘favour-owing’ begins. It requires an element of what the Guide refers to as ‘Balls’. In this case the specific area of Risk. Put more poetically, it requires one of you to put ‘em up there, and Trust.
This is tough – and getting tougher – because the prevailing ethos is that Trust is for schmucks; for Losers. We’re encouraged to ‘Take’ as much as we can, and ‘Give’ as little in return as the other guy will settle for. It
brings no joy to anyone
– unless you’re a sadist.
Ultimately, of course, the real losers discover it’s they themselves, as the passage of time relentlessly saps away at power, in any form. In evidence may I submit your cock as Exhibit One.
What you learn from Life Experience is that a small charity, such as the one for which I’m privileged to work, is able to make a big difference to those it seeks to serve despite its lowly level of outward trappings, the favours owed and acknowledged being hidden from view.
My old desk, a gift from an accountant a few years ago (so I’m told), wobbles on the right side, and the bottom drawer on the left side is permanently stuck shut. It’s struck me more than once that this imbalance could be more than a coincidence….
Well it’s obvious isn’t it? The drawer is stuffed with bank-notes and gold bars, the latter adding the weight to one side, the stuff undoubtedly the result of a heist from a nasty bank somewhere in the South, or maybe in Lancashire, the heisters having fled to Spain and now fearful of returning to ‘fax.
And who knows, when the Gas Company sends their final legal warning that they are on their way to turn the heat off (despite the cruel, winter cold, miserable fuckers), the drawer will suddenly become free! Later, the heat will be restored, though this won’t be before the gas bill is paid in full, plus an outrageous ‘reconnection fee’ plus the additional ‘administration charge’. Plus interest.
The Gas Company doesn’t do favours.