Sometimes at work, when I can’t get back to sleep after a meeting, I lay awake and daydream.
Today I daydreamed about becoming a sociopath. Again. Oh, you think that’s odd, do you? How about I come to your house and kill you?
Ha, ha! Just kidding! Sociopaths are not necessarily homicidal, although homicidal people are, ipso facto, sociopaths. Anywy, I’m not actually a sociopath. But I wish I were. Here are some reasons why!
If I were a sociopath, I would have a lot of friends because sociopaths have a magnetic charm that draws people to them, the better to destroy their lives.
If I were a sociopath, I would wound and exploit my “friends” for gain, for pleasure, and for no reason at all. If my “friends” wounded and exploited me, I would feel wronged and indignant, and I would say, “Hey, I’m the real victim here.”
If I were a sociopath, some other things that I would say would be, “It’s you, not me,” “Yes, it does make you look fat,” and “I’d shut my mouth if I were you.”
If I were a sociopath, I’d stop feeling guilty all the time. And I wouldn’t apologize for anything. Not a goddamn thing.
If I were a sociopath, I would give my therapist just twenty-three hours’ notice before canceling an appointment. Also, if I were a sociopath, I’d probably quit therapy because it’s an untreatable condition.
If I were a sociopath, I would embezzle money from my employer and frame that imbecile Don Grissom in HR, and then finagle things so that I got his job. I would be great in HR.
If I were a sociopath, I would buy inappropriate gifts for people to make them feel bad about themselves. Like a baby carrier for an infertile couple.
If I were a sociopath and we were at a party playing the “Would you rather be invisible or able to fly?” game, I would say “Invisible, so that I could spy on people without being seen.” Then, if someone joked that I sounded like a sociopath, I would say, “I’d shut my mouth if I were you.”
If I were a sociopath and I was at a restaurant, I would stop at someone else’s table on my way to the bathroom, take my knife and fork out of my pocket, cut off and eat a piece of their London broil without permission, and then continue on my way to the bathroom. I would toss my knife and fork over my shoulder, like Michael Corleone in that restaurant scene in “The Godfather.”
If I were a sociopath, I wouldn’t have to work hard. All day long I’d biddy-biddy-bum.
If I were a sociopath, I would say, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters, okay?”