Oh, to Be a Sociopath!

Posted on The Haven.

Sometimes at work, when I can’t get back to sleep after a meeting, I lay awake and daydream. Today I daydreamed of being a sociopath. Again. Oh, you think it’s creepy to want to be a sociopath, do you? How about I make you pay for that thought?

Ha, ha! Just kidding! Sociopaths aren’t necessarily criminal maniacs, although criminal maniacs are, ipso facto, sociopaths. Anyway, I’m not actually a sociopath. But sometimes 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 exploit my “friends” and wound them with radical honesty. If my “friends” exploited or wounded me, I would feel wronged and indignant, and I would say, “Hey, I’m the real victim here” and I’d actually believe it.

If I were a sociopath, some other things that I would say would be, “You’re right: It’s you, not me,” “Hey, did I hear you’re getting fired?” and “I guess you’re officially off your diet.”

If I were a sociopath, I’d stop feeling guilty all the time for accidentally saying hurtful things to people. And I wouldn’t have to apologize for anything. Not a goddamn thing.

If I were a sociopath, I would give my therapist only twenty-three hours’ notice before canceling an appointment rather than the customary twenty-four to show that she doesn’t control me. Also, if I were a sociopath, I’d probably quit therapy. Maybe.

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 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” and not feel afraid that I’d get punched in the throat for it.

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 a knife and fork out of my pocket, cut off and eat a piece of their veal chop without permission, and then continue to the bathroom, tossing my cutlery 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.

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?”