The Jolly Dickhead

I know this guy. He is unique. He is probably one of the most unique characters I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. This is not to say that I necessarily like him (though I certainly don't hate him). It's more to do with the fact that he occupies a certain social role I've not seen anyone occupy in the same way before, and that role is the "man-about-town." It's all he is. It defines him completely. And it's funny as hell, because in and of itself, it's not quite enough to make a complete person. As is so often the case with people, it's the deficiencies that make him interesting.

He possesses a sort of bouncing bluster that, inexplicably, manages to make him hip and childlike at the same time. Occasionally he'll say something so grossly, out-of-the-ballpark inappropriate that people instinctively gloss it over and act like the words didn't just come out of his mouth, because to accept their existence is to accept the creation of a social H-bomb that will wipe out not just your conversation but most likely the entire party, and quite possibly some of the shindigs in the immediate area. I've seen this happen on a number of occasions, and it always strikes me as hilarious. He gets to say whatever he likes, and people don't just ignore it; they simply don't hear it.

He very overtly adheres to the kind of personal meritocracy that I wish more people were honest about. It's very simple, really: in the universe according to him, people's personal importance is strictly dictated by their social stature. If you're Johnny Well-Known, then you're automatically and inflappably more important than John Q. Public. If you're Jack Famous, then Johnny Well-Known can go fuck himself, at least for the time being. I suspect a lot of people go in for this mode of thinking while not owning up to it, perhaps not even to themselves; he, meanwhile, displays it proudly on his sleeve.

Since he's the guy with the connections - the guy who cuts the deals, the guy who fixes the problems - he's always on the move. There's always someone more important than you that he could be networking with at this very moment, and that person needs to be found and networked with. This means that whenever you're in conversation with him, there's a strict limit imposed on how long you can make your sentences. I amuse myself sometimes by counting the number of syllables I'm able to get out before he starts looking away (roughly 12), spots someone else (roughly 20) and is gone, like a fart on the summer breeze (30, if you're lucky).

But he's real jovial about it all. And here's the funny thing: even with all that, his joviality is completely genuine. It isn't forced and it isn't faked. He doesn't hate you, it's just that you're not as important as some of these other people, and he has no gentle way of easing you into that fact. It's that man/child dichotomy thing. He's the only person I know who could carry the title "Jolly Dickhead" pinned to his lapel, and it would make immediate and obvious sense to everyone who knows him. "Oh," they'd say. "That makes immediate and obvious sense."

I bumped into him the other day. Roughly paraphrased and liberally time-stretched, here's how our conversation went:

JD: (smiling ear-to-ear) Heeey man, you going to the thing tonight?

Me: Oh, I dunno, I haven't really been feeling all that great. Still...

JD: (begins skimming the premises)

Me: ...sorta recovering from that flu, not sure if I should be partying yet.

JD: (fixes his gaze on a point somewhere directly behind my head) Yeah, you probably have ball cancer.

Me: Plus, I hit the bottle pretty hard last weekend, sorta want to stay away from that for a couple weeks. So what about...

JD: (walks away)


It's probably a good thing there aren't many more like him, but the birdwatcher in me is nevertheless glad that his particular breed exists.

Here's to you, Jolly Dickhead.