Sadly, we have no winners. But the challenge was a little unfair because they were all embellishments of true stories. I found the biggest challenge was to create a lie more outrageous than what I already had in my archives of “Tricia’s Believe it or Not”. So the best I could do was make the truths lies.
Below is the original lie with my new comments in italics.
- In 1995, I received a job offer to share driving the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile across America. Said vehicle was born at Carlin Manufacturing in Fresno and said builder of the Wein-tastic mobile was the spouse of a friend. Reece told me I was weird quirky enough and would be a perfect “Hotdogger” for the job. The required twelve-month travel commitment, a pay cut, and no promise my existing job would still be available to me—as there were no provisions on the employee handbook for Weiner-leave—and being a responsible single mother at the time, I was so very aggrieved to decline. It is today one of my most deepest of life’s regrets. False. All true except the part in the first sentence that says, “I received a job offer”. It was suggested I apply to Hot Dog High (a school for future hot doggers). It wasn’t like I’d ever had a chance. There are rigorous training courses: a boot camp, FBI-like screenings, a personality quiz, all set up to weed out the likes of people like me.
- I was so desperate for a local writers group that I joined the only one available—a creative writing class for senior citizens, conducted at a retirement home. I was twenty years younger than the minimum age required, and folks were too kind to kick me out. False. It wasn’t a retirement home, but a wing of a hospital. Gosh.
- Speaking of impersonation: Once I pretended to be someone else when my boss, who loved to pull pranks, told a friend of his—twice my age—I wanted to meet him. I did not. In fact, his friend was a defense attorney who helped free a guilty man, and I often complained about him—thus my boss’s fuel for his prank. So, on New Year’s Eve as I prepared to leave the office—last one there—a man strode in. He told me his name and that he was looking for Tricia. I plopped behind the receptionist desk upon which sat a “Julie” nameplate. I told him Tricia had left for the day. On several occasions after that when I saw him coming from the parking lot, I would push Julie out of her chair suggest Julie take her break, whereas I’d be glad to relieve her at the phones for a few minutes. My boss enjoyed the show so much, he never revealed my true identity. False. Her name was Candace, not Julie.
- Krishnamurti is a big deal in Ojai, being that he and Ojai are synonymous entities, and being that he lived there. He conducted many peace talks and attracted followers hither and yon. Having lived there myself, I was naturally curious. I finally found the opportunity to attend one of his lectures on Mediation Mount. In 1986, I knew nothing about Krishnamurti, his philosophical teachings, his quest for positive change, his spiritual paths, or that he had died four months earlier—those Ojaians don’t let little things like death stop a peace movement. At the top of the hill rested a large wreath-shrouded portrait of him next to a record player. The album was a record of Krishnamurti’s past talks. We (my dad and I) realized we’d parked a mile away and hoofed it with a zillion other hippies to view a picture and listen to a scratchy album on a micro speaker system. A certain scuffle of anti-peace caliber ensued at a neighboring blanket—apparently over some illegal peace pipe and its diminishing supply—that inspired a closer look. I got up to investigate this newfound entertainment and tripped on the cord to the record player, whereupon it toppled to a record-scratching halt. (The jury is still out as to whether I was the scoundrel who ruined the show or the hero who ruined the show. I didn’t stick around to find out.) False. Uh, I would not do that (Yeah, I would). My dad would, though. He tripped over the cord.
- I shave my legs four times a year. False. Jeez, have ye so little faith. The number is closer to five, maybe six times a year. More on special occasions.
- When I was nineteen, I sold my Fiat. (I know. I could stop here and it would still seem an unbelievable lie. But there is more to this story.) So, I was asking a thousand for this piece of junk, inflated knowing the buyer would see I had done some “improvised repairs” and bid me down substantially. Repairs in the neighborhood of bobby pins securing the ceiling fabric to the ceiling; a duck taped rearview mirror; windshield wipers movable by string attached to the steering wheel; a wrench in place of the roll down windows thingy. Gum to secure radio knobs. Oil leaks, and other minor trivialities. My buyer, who I will swear was Ric Ocasek from The Cars, seemed unfazed by my handiwork; I even gave up his noticing and pointed them out. It was when he got out of the car, and his black spiky hair caught itself in the bobby pins, that I volunteered to lower my price. He hung there for a few seconds while I clumsily tried to free his hair from the firm clutch of the Fiat ceiling, after which he said, “I’ll take it.” I said, “For five hundred?” and he said, “No, I’ll take it for a thousand,” and I responded with a “No, I won’t go any higher than five hundred.” After several more minutes of haggling, and me making convincing arguments on the blue book value (zero), he finally got me to settle for eight hundred. He left a happy camper and gave me his phone number should I change my mind and decide to take the extra two-hundred dollars. True. I’d love to cross paths again with this Ric Ocasek dude come time to sell my house. I’ve grown a lot since I was nineteen: unethical has crept into the growth pattern, along with a mix of other morally unfavorable personality traits, plus I lost my good conscience somewhere at a Krishnamurti peace talk some years ago. I’m ready for him now. Muhahahaha. (Now I’m lying on top of my one truth. Of course I’m still a dork who’d lower my price if need be.)
- I was smacked in the face with a watermelon at a Gallagher show. False. Two rows away from the danger zone.
Since I had no winners, I give the award to all who played the game, except for Kasie, who’ll get Junior Mints.
Now for something different. I discovered this timer the other day that I found useful in keeping myself in line (offline). I have a bad habit of clicking over to the web every time I need a mental break from writing, which is every five minutes. So now I time myself. I make myself write for a certain amount of time without allowing myself to enter the internet. Even if I get blocked and all I do is stare out the window, I will not go online again until the time allows. Neat, huh?
Stay tuned: I’ll be doing a Thursday post this week.