Not a Damn Thing

346.

Interviews concluded, we thank Sergeant Crouthers for his assistance and decide to share notes before reviewing the videotape. "Someplace quiet - so Ponchos is out," I state the obvious. "Well, I need to visit a bookstore, so let's do a Google search and take the chance that they will have a space that fits our needs, they usually do."

Twenty minutes later we are seated in a Barnes & Noble private room, in overstuffed chairs, sipping exotic coffee drinks. "Let's take it from the top, I'll go first, and since you didn't have the luxury of a live viewing like I did, I'll try to keep it objective and honest."

"OK, but is the objective here to capture bigger upstream fish, or exchange data on the success, or challenge, of the 'new' system?" She asks.

I look at her with respectful appreciation, "Not sure, but I am sure of the fact that no matter what our tactics are, or their long-term potential, we are playing this out with a ticking clock. In a perfect existence we would do both; net the trophy and establish the groundwork for future harvests. It's like the difference between food and art."

She looks at me with quizzical doubt, "I don't follow that one, please explain."

"I defaulted to the classic technique of offering immediate gratification, in this case a steak and potato dinner in trade for some names and numbers, realizing that it would get us results faster than, say, buying a habitual offender with fifth grade reading skills a three-hundred page tome by an author of high-brow reputation." I brace for impact. "John Wayne would require a smile when saying that, so here is mine." I shoot for ear-to-ear but can see in her face massive disappointment. I immediately feel like the ass of the horse the Duke rode in on.

"That came out wrong. All I meant was that we have to balance the reality of the situation with the experimentation. We can do both, but we have to be savvy about it. I apologize for my insensitivity."

She says that it's OK, no offense taken, but I have my doubts about the depth of her sincerity. I hope that I haven't inadvertently opened, and tripped into, a chasm from which I might never escape. Before I can formulate a cleaner apology and try another approach, she asks, with apparent forgiveness, "How much of the interview did your see?"

"Came in right as you started the game."

"From what you saw, what would you have done different?"

I pause, looking at her as a virtuoso violin teacher might look at her prodigy student, mustering every ounce of cowboy humility and musical appreciation to answer: "Not a damn thing."