The Sardine's depression has not relented. At first, he blamed the success that the "majority is always wrong" argument had among his friends. That was near the time Joe T. announced his engagement to Antigone. What would a libidinous Joe T. wrought? Mollified by the thought that kids rebel against parental demands and ways, the Sardine also was aware that children take on parental traits with a vengeance. Joe T.'s would becomes as or more tragic than their father. From him would come a rush of a thousand molecular irritations, each one made into a Himalaya of worries. There wouldn't be room in the world for real suffering!
Apparently, his future in-laws have some trepidations.
"Oed has been supportive," Joe told the Sardine one evening at the Attic. "It's the rest of her people, especially Uncle Creon."
"Oeddie's always saying great things about you," Wal-terr commented. "He says you're the most tragic person alive."
I wondered what Creon objected to.
"He doesn't think I'm tragic enough."
"You're not Greek, either," said Wal-terr. "Can't even read the language."
"Yeah, I once asked what were the funny looking letters. That really got him. He insisted that only ancient Greeks were truly tragic."
What did this jerk mean that Joe T. wasn't tragic enough? All the internal pain from too many pepper flakes in his spaghetti sauce. A week of heartburn and Maalox.
"He says I'm a parody of everything that's really tragic."
What about the time Joe's girlfriend left her two dogs at his condo for a week? One evening he went out for eight hours; he didn't come home immediately after his shift at the Attic. The dogs had pooped on his new white carpet. Ruined it. And what did he do with the poop?
"That was Beth, two girlfriends ago. She went to San Francisco and never came back. Left me the damn dogs."
"Oeddie got a laugh about that," said Wal-terr.
"You didn't tell him the whole story?" Joe T. asked Wal-terr.
"I didn't think you'd mind."
It seemed reasonable - more reasonable than wrapping it in a newspaper he hadn't read or throwing it out with the carpet ("Or mailing it to his ex," Wal-terr said under his breath.) - well, reasonable to a confirmed bachelor, to take the poop and put it into the sink's garbage disposal. The disposal never worked the same, and Joe would have been wise to purchase a new one at the cost of a few hundred dollars. The episode certainly has made Joe's friends reluctant to come over to the condo, even when Joe was offering free beer and Pay Per View heavyweight bouts.
"The Uncle's threatening to disinherit Tig if she goes through with the marriage. We might elope."
"You can't do that," said Wal-terr, "what about the money and gifts you'll get at the wedding reception?"
"You wouldn't be invited regardless."
"Trying to protect your young cousins?"
"They just entered high school, you swine." He turned to the Sardine. "You don't think Creon's right, do you?"
The Sardine knows when Joe T. asks such a question, he must half-believe he was a living self-parody. One more aspect of his tragic condition. No confidence in himself. He wants me to bolster him and deny the truth of Creon's remark. Next, he'll dispatch me to the Uncle's domicile to convince them! However, there is much truth what the old guy said.
"Crap. That's what Antigone told me."
What the Sardine means is that few people can avoid becoming parodies of themselves.
"Does that mean I'm not or I am?"
Look at Wal-terr. The way he torments you or tries to flirt with the busgirls in the restaurant. There's few actions he makes that do not violate some social more. That's how he gets by and, against all reason, is liked by most people.
"What do you mean? Most women can't stand him."
That doesn't stop him from going after them or getting lucky! But do you know why he's tolerated and not tarred and feathered?
"He can't help himself?"
Partly. Anymore, he's imitating his worst self. No one thinks he could be really sincere in what's doing. Why should he be taken seriously?
"That just allows him to get away with being audacious."
That's a side benefit, if you will, from being a parody if oneself. It happens to everyone.
"How can it be prevented?"
It can't. Nor should we try to. It allows a protective coat to wash over our being and provide the final excuse for the inexcusable. Namely, being a human being.
McNulty's a better example.
As the ultimate social pet, no one takes his foibles and crankiness seriously. That's why we can put up with him, even enjoy his company.
"Same with the Sardine," added Wal-terr. "The longer he hangs around, the more we agree with what he says. Even what he said about me just now. I would have punched out anyone who talked about me that way. Except the Sardine. Frank Weathers said the other day how right the Sardine was about the Kennedy assassination. That's why the Sard's so depressed. His only alternative is to start agreeing with us and start giving the Logged-In Public what it wants."
Wal-terr was right.
"Do you think I should be less tragic? Maybe get a new garbage disposal?"
"Maybe Frank can process your insurance claim," said Wal-terr, "and ask for a couple thousand dollars."
"Yeah, that's what I'll do. Thanks, Sard, for your advice. I'll get those Greeks on my side yet."
The Sardine's essays, articles, and stories have appeared around the Internet in the last few years at 3 A.M., Facets, Eclectica magazine, Fiction Funhouse, The Fiction Warehouse, 5_trope, and several film journals. Who and what he is probably will be revealed at various points through the articles appearing at this site. The first fifteen installments of his saga can be viewed at the old Unlikely Stories.