Pool_2

"You mean that stupid memo? Look at this place. You! You, and these.. these.. mmm.. others, I didn't approve any repairs. You could perhaps stud my horses, but I'd need to check your breeding papers first," the officer's voice was haughty, self assured and thoroughly, condescending. He insisted that he hadn't officiated any request for carpentry work and therefore there would be none, implying additionally that the man before him was annoying in his merely being present, that he never could be anything but annoying, and that further explanation was not an obligation of his position nor code of conduct. Things had already gone way too far. Some carpenter. At a glance, a Protestant of the lower classes, all decked out in tools, but the attire looking more like a warrior, especially if you read faces and demeanor. Nowadays, very few people can read coats of arms, crests, mottos, standards, pinsels, let alone hunting and war tartans. This official had his share of government issue tinsel on his own uniform which drew from various protocols of identification. But, probably, the only symbols to which he attended were the numbers on his paycheck. He didn't see a serious message spelled out in heraldry on that dread of a man standing before him. And body language? Those who do not care about the feelings or needs of others do not attend to demeanor. Why bother? Body language was not his language. His was a language of telling. Listening was an unused appendage. He spoke only in an aloof language of cool dismissal from a seat of authority. Authority, in turn, was whatever he authored for the carriage of his whims, which he took to be synonymous with the will of a majority. Majority was a highly selective count of those who did count. So, who actually counts? A guy the size of a rhino stands before you and you brush him off as if he does not count? Do you see the problem here? Not everybody can bow.