Let’s just say that last night I started making bread. Bread to go with the soup I’m making today, that we’ll be having for dinner. Let’s just say that after I bake it (which I’m doing right now) it is going to be the best bread I’ve ever made, because it has been kneaded and punched and smacked within an inch of its
gluten life. Let’s just say that it is tempting to say “I FOUND THE BRIGHT SIDE OF HELL! HELL YIELDS EXCELLENT BREAD!”
Let’s just say that yesterday I spent my entire afternoon dreaming of pointy objects, bloody violence, and writing STERN LETTERS of complaint to… well, I’m not sure who. Someone in charge. Perhaps the person in charge of appointing mediators for disputes down at my local courthouse. Let’s just say that sometimes the courts order people to mediation and then they appoint someone who is certified and qualified to help the parties in question reach resolution.
NOW let’s just say that in this PURELY FICTITIOUS case, the person who is sent in to mediate is, in fact, Mr. Magoo.
And I’m sure, my pretty readers, you can easily imagine the joy that would fill someone’s heart, the EXTREME RAPTURE that would ensue, upon realizing that yes, it’s Mr. Magoo, here to help you and someone else determine various pertinent arrangements for the two people you love best in the whole world.
Let’s just say that Mr. Magoo arrives late. Of course. Because wow, there was traffic. Which is extremely unusual on a weekday in the Atlanta metropolitan area. If you happen to be Mr. Magoo.
Let’s just say that Mr. Magoo is at least one hundred and twenty years old. Not that you’re being ageist, or anything, but that does impart a certain deliberate slowness to life, when sudden movements might cause your bones to shatter or your teeth to fall out.
Let’s just say that Mr. Magoo needs to set up his computer, except that Mr. Magoo, goshdarnitall, isn’t really sure how his computer works. In fact, Mr. Magoo may need to tell you all about how he installed that newfangled Microsoft Office and hooboy, howdy, that removed a bunch of stuff he needed, plus it took FOREVER, and can you believe it? Let’s just say that you responded, “I’m a Mac person,” because that seemed shorter and more polite than, “I don’t really care about your computer issues, you incompetent old coot.”
Let’s just say that Mr. Magoo explains that he doesn’t know anything about your case, and asks you to fill him in. Let’s just say that you proceed, and Mr. Magoo takes notes, but then twice as much time over again is spent in CLARIFYING the items he ALREADY WROTE DOWN because Mr. Magoo, you see, he just can’t keep anything straight. It takes three go ’rounds to get him straight on current visitation schedules, and by the time he departs to the other room to talk to the other party, even your lawyer is rolling his eyes and commenting that whatever slim chance of resolution there had been, heading into this, is being obliterated by Mr. Magoo’s jovial incompetence.
Let’s just say that you sit, and make small talk with your lawyer, and you wait, and eventually Mr. Magoo comes back with even more notes on his pad. And Mr. Magoo has several propositions to go over with you, and he begins explaining, and the first item that is completely ridiculous you say, “No. Not up for debate, that’s insane.” And he tries to make a joke but it falls flat, and then he tries to sway you, a bit, seeming confused at your opposition, and then your lawyer reiterates that this is not even up for discussion, and Mr. Magoo persists, and FINALLY Mr. Magoo realizes that OH! Actually, he meant “never” when he said “always.” OOPS! No wonder you were so opposed! OH GOSH! And let’s just say that at that moment, you consider walking out.
But let’s just say that you don’t, because you are trying to make the best of things.
Later, let’s just say that Mr. Magoo wants to propose a certain item from the other party, and he has a DIAGRAM, even, because, you know, VISUAL AIDS!, and you and your lawyer say “7 days” and he agrees, yes, 7 days, and then he holds up his diagram indicating 10 days and says it again: 7 days.
Let’s just say that Mr. Magoo isn’t very good at math.
Let’s just say that several hours and AN ENTIRE WEEK’S EARNINGS LATER, you decide it’s time to leave, and Mr. Magoo agrees, and opines, “You know, I’m sorry nothing got worked out. I think maybe in this case, mediation just made things worse.” And let’s just say that at a point when you thought you couldn’t be any more annoyed, you suddenly ARE more annoyed, because Mr. Magoo KNOWS how ridiculous and useless this was, and yet he still takes your money with a smile.
Let’s just say, it is going to be the most fanfuckingtastic loaf of bread I’ve ever baked in my entire life.