Do you ever think about your legacy?
If part of your life will be recorded in some, even arcane, historical tome?
I think I have my answer.
And the name attributed to it?
“The Glitter Incident.”
I can’t make this stuff up.
I mean, I can almost envision the poor sap who, decades into the future, is combing through files, uploading reports into some grand database lorded over by robots. Or Clint Eastwood.
And then, right before lunch (which, in typical futuristic flair, will consist of a pill stamped “Lunch”), some, since forbidden, glimmer on the next file’s heading will catch their eye.
They’ll put down the pill.
Pull the file closer, out of view of the mechanical, cycloptic eye monitoring the enslaved humans bent prostrate, thumbing through the metal file cabinet catacombs.
And there on the heading, speckled with shimmering glitter, will be printed in bold, character-devoid lettering: “The Glitter Incident, 2013.”
Furtively scanning the details, penned in crazed chicken scratch, the peon will become emboldened by the originality and quiet execution of the plan contrived by Unknown Suspect X.
And then, taking the residual glitter from the file folder and dabbing it onto their brows, the wee peon will rally their surrounding cohorts, rail against the mechanical monsters, and bring about a time of peace and tranquility.
Sure, maybe my penchant for a flair-filled, dramatic exit won’t be remembered for posterity. But harmless antics like mine will at least create a moderate amount of confusion among the McNutters out there.
Because, really, the more you can screw with a horrendously awful person from afar, the better. And double-plus bonus if said McNutterpants doppelganger ends up turning her paranoid delusions on those surrounding her. Because then, maybe those too willfully ignorant of her cray cray operations will be forced to acknowledge the extent of her insanity.
And offer her her own, less grand exit.
But, really, that’s not the world we live in. The McNutters of the world will keep doing what they’re doing–driving competent people away in order to lord over their tragic anthill.
And you know what?
Each McNutter can have their crumbling kingdom.
Go ahead, let them have it. Find somewhere else to be–someplace you’ll actually be valued and treated with respect.
Or, take the time to become the person you’ve wanted to be. And be happy being that person.
Because, really, being happier than you were is the best revenge.
Someone who smiles and laughs far, far away.
Someone who sparkles.