Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Plausible Denial

Plausible Denial or Avoiding Responsibility

After the beep

by Richard E. Noble

Avoiding responsibility is nothing new, but today, I think, we have finally gone off the deep end. I don’t know where it started but I think it all began with some President and CIA shenanigans. The President is having trouble with some dictator in Slumbovia. The CIA has the perfect solution. Let’s kill the SOB. The President says O.K., but I don’t want to know nothing about it. Do whatever you have to do but don’t tell me poop about it. The CIA runs off and blows up Slobadumb Heissabitch. But then when the committee on “let’s cover everything up” appears on TV, the President says . . .What bombing? Who got killed? I know nothing.
This tactic is called the art of Plausible Denial. It seems to be working well, so now private enterprise has gotten in on the act.
You may have just heard on the Boob-tube about the lady who lives in Guatemala who may be hired at two cents a month to take your order at the local fast food drive-through for a quarter pounder with cheese in the near future. But, whether or not, I’m sure you will be familiar with the following - which is, more or less, what I consider an actual description of the way it always seems to turn out.
The Garbage truck passes by your little business’s dumpster for the nineteenth time this month. Your dumpster is supposed to be dumped once each week. You have garbage all over your parking lot, and today the wind is just perfect and the garbage is actually being blown right in your front door. So you get out your United Hurryup dumpster service card, and call the emergency number on the back.
“Al-ohhh? Dees ees dee Ory-yap dumster ser-veese.”
“Yeah, well, your darn truck just zoomed by me once again. Do you think that you screw-offs are going to be able to pick up my garbage some time this year?”
“What corn-tree are you call-ling from?”
“What country? I’m calling from the United States of America, the home of the free - the land of the brave.”
“Hold on please ...  beep, buzz, fart fart ... Hello this is George. I’m the U.S. representative for the Hurryup Dumpster Service. How may I help you?”
“Yeah, George, the truck just zoomed by me again. In fact, I can see the darn thing right out my window. He’s about a block down the road and it looks like he is going to forget me one more time. I’ve got garbage everywhere. I should think at six thousand dollars a month, you Mafia blank-blanks should be able to get a can or two of mine into your lousy truck a couple of times a year, anyway. Can I talk to somebody in charge or are all your executives still in the Federal Penitentiary?”
“What state are you calling from, sir?
“This is Billy Bob’s Heavenly Hog Bar-b-que, and I’m calling from that great state of Florida. Our delegation is proud to cast all of our four million uncounted votes for anybody. Is there anybody out there, for Crissakes?”
“Thank you. I will connect you to your State ... beep, beep whirl ... (music) ... lots of time later ... Hello? This is Kathy, your Florida state representative and on behalf of the Hurryup Dumpster Service may I be the first …”
“Yeah, yeah, yaaaa. Listen sweetheart. I have been waiting here now for two hours. I want to talk to somebody about my garbage.”
“What county are you calling from, sir?”
“God in Heaven! I’m calling from Franklin County, Florida located in the United States of America ... And
“One moment, sir; I’ll connect you ... beep beep ... screech beep ... beep ... Good after-noon. If you are calling about paying your bill, press one. If you are a new customer, press two. If you need service, press three.”
(After pressing three) Beep beep ... “Al-oh? what corn-tree are you calling from?”

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