99.9% of the time, when I lie it is for the solely for my own amusement. I like saying that I've done things that I obviously haven't done, or saying that I know people that I definitely don't know. I like telling tall tales, weaving elaborate and borderline farcical stories. It's deceit, but not for the sake of deception. When people believe me, I confess almost immediately so that they, too, can be entertained by fabrications.
I don't lie to fill others' with a false sense of confidence. I don't lie to weasel my way out of mistakes. I don't lie to make others look bad, to avoid work, or as a part of some nefarious ploy.
I lie to amuse and entertain. Myself, if nobody else.
When I was in high school, I went to a street fair with Laura, one of my very best friends. Laura is an almost unnaturally good person. Smart, funny, compassionate, studious, and more "true to herself" than a teenage girl at the end of a lifetime movie. I only saw her get in trouble one time, and it was as a result of a teacher's faulty perception rather than as a result of something she actually did. She is the kind of girl you want to befriend, the kind of girl you want to have date your son, and the kind of girl you hope you bump into in a club bathroom when you're slightly drunk and on your period and without your handbag. (How easy was that to follow?)
Anyway, I was at a street fair with my "unrealistically good" friend Laura and we walked by a young man handing out samples of candied nuts. "Pecans?" He offered.
Laura said, without even slowing her gait, "Sorry, I'm allergic to nuts."
After we walked a little ways further I looked at her. "You are not allergic to nuts."
She shrugged. "I know, but it's easy to lie to people you'll never see again."
I was astonished. I was floored. I was... inspired.
Now, don't get me wrong, I didn't turn around and start lying to every person I happened across. But sometimes I get a little bit close. Like, in my city there are a lot of people who work for a grassroots campaign organization that try to collect regular donors for human rights and environmental campaigns. And while those are, often, things that I want to support: I'm, fundamentally, broke. So, if we're walking and I see we're about to cross paths with someone holding a clipboard, I might turn to you and say, "So, at this point, I'm like 6 weeks late and Eric isn't returning any of my phone calls and, like, I don't know what to do." (I have this theory that even grassroots campaign people won't interrupt if the conversation seems scandalous/important/tragic enough.) It's a technicality, I think. A fly-by lie. Not that bad.
Direct, face-to-face lies for non-entertainment purposes? I typically avoid those.
Until today.
I arrived in the neighborhood where I work a little early today. And a little hungry. So, I decided to run into a grocery store and pick up some pistachios. (This isn't the point, but I wasn't actually able to find pistachios. So I wound up getting lightly salted edamame.)
I could see, standing in front of the doors, a woman with a clipboard. I didn't have a friend with me. I didn't have my headphones. I didn't have a way to avoid her. Unless I could just be really intentional about not making eye conta--nope. She stopped me.
"Excuse me, would you sign a petition? We're trying to get a bill to legalize medical marijuana on the ballot."
I'm always suspicious of petitions. But I totally sign them. And I am not, fundamentally, opposed to the legalization of marijuana, even for non-medical purposes. But, regardless, you're never going to see my name on a weed petition.
While she was in the midst of listing the various types of cancer patients who benefit from medical marijuana, I was in the midst of trying to come up with a way to get out of talking to her about it and signing her petition. So I lied. "I'm sorry, I'm not registered to vote in Jackson County."
It's not a terrible lie. I mean, it's a complete and total lie in that I work, live, shop, and, yes, am registered to vote in Jackson County. But it should have served my purposes well because if someone who isn't registered to vote in a given county signs a petition to get something on the ballot for that county it's not of any actual use. So, you can keep that in mind if you're trying to get out of petition signing.
Unfortunately for me, though, she wasn't just like, "Oh, okay." No, no. Instead, she asked...
"Where are you registered?"
What?? I thought. This didn't happen to Laura when she offhandedly lied to the candied nuts guy! "Johnson." I replied.
If I had thought more about it, I would have said, "Oh, I actually just moved here from Idaho." Or Illinois. Or Minnesota. Or I could have even said, "I'm not actually registered to vote anywhere." But instead I went with "the county on the other side of Stateline."
I figured it was pretty believable. Johnson County and Jackson County are basically in spitting distance from each other. Throughout college, I lived and went to school in Jackson County, but I worked in Johnson County. The last few times I went grocery shopping, I went to a Trader Joes in Johnson County. Needless to say, there are lots of Johnson County folks hanging out in Jackson, and vice versa.
So, see? Believable.
But unfortunately, I wasn't speaking to an accepter. I was speaking to a problem solver. "I'll just make up a petition for Johnson County, then!" She said.
And then: I was struck with panic. What could I do at this point? Confess? "Oh, sorry, I'm not really registered in Johnson County. I'm registered in Jackson. I just didn't want to sign your pot-tition." Lie again? "Oh, I'm sorry, I meant: I just moved to Johnson County, but I haven't registered there yet. Haha, better do so before the next election, right? HahahahHAHAhah." Perhaps point behind her and scream, "WHAT IS THAT?" and then, when she's distracted, run as far away as possible as fast as possible?
"You... have... a petition... for Johnson County?" I stuttered.
"I'll make one right now!" She explained as she started filling out another petition.
"I'M SORRY I DON'T HAVE TIME," I said, a little too loudly.
"Wait!" She said, desperate frustration exuding from her pores.
"SORRY!" I called back as I bolted into the store. As I wandered through the store, I wondered how I would get past her as I was leaving and I chided myself for not being a little quicker on my feet while deceiving.
The moral of this story is, I guess, that I should stick to my lane and only use lies as a means to entertain.
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