11.13.2006

finishing next-to-last.

Ned is a nice guy.

No, I mean that Ned is really a nice guy. You could take the most eloquent writer in the world, with the absolute best vocabulary, introduce him to Ned, and the writer would say, "Now there's a nice guy." Other people at my company worry about getting more clients or improving efficiency, but not Ned. He's worried about employee morale. Ned is average height, of average looks, and is slender. I imagine that he eats nutritious foods and goes jogging five days a week. He attends church regularly and gives to charity. He has investments in safe, slow-yield companies. Ned is a nice guy.

I like Ned, because I cannot help but do so. I do not talk to him much, because, well, nice people tend to seem bland to me. The people that I am drawn towards are nice people, but if you were to describe them in one word, "nice" would not come up in the top ten. Niceness is just not their defining characteristic. So my thought on Ned tend to be "what a nice guy," and then dismissal and my concentration goes on to someone more interesting.

We have an annual company picnic at a local park, which everyone dreads. Families are invited, so that everyone's families may also dread the event. The picnic isn't bad, and people seem to have a good time, but I think it's just the idea of attending a work function on a Saturday. Last year was my first picnic, and so my first time meeting Ned's wife. Petite and slim, exotic and foreign, with waist-length black hair and olive skin, one look at the gorgeous Mrs. Ned and the beautiful little Nedlets tells me one thing:

There's something more to Ned.

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