HELLO, MY NAME IS NDUMISO, AND I AM A NITPICKER
In the 1993 movie Malice, the Dr Jed Hill character played by Alec Baldwin is holding a note in his hand. His lover, Tracy, played by Nicole Kidman, asks what the note says. Jed retorts, “What does it read. A note does not say.” This fictional character clearly belongs to that group of human beings who suffer from a terrible affliction called pedantry, the excessive and uncontrollable obsession with minor, literal detail. I should know all about it, seeing as I have suffered from the disease for as long as I can remember.
I must have been in Grade 3 or 4 when Miss Mbonambi, my Cub Scouts instructor, said something along the lines of “all Boy Scouts grow up to become successful members of society”. I turned to my friend Vincent and whispered, “Does she know all the Boy Scouts in this history of the world?” I clearly didn’t lower my voice enough. As the blows rained upon me, I learnt I had to be selective with who to be a smartass with.
A few years later at Inkamana High I was watching a debate between two Grade 11 boys. One of the participants started a sentence with “As we all know that . . . ” The head boy, one Dr Cassius Lubisi who is now the DG in the Presidency, interrupted him immediately. “How could you possibly know that we all know that? That’s a false argument.”
My jaw must have scraped the floor upon the realisation that there were others like me.
I negotiate the maze of life fighting the urge to point out the silly things we all say. And this is not to assert that I am immune to the silly things humans have a tendency to say.
I recently walked into the TV lounge where my 10-year-old was engrossed in an episode of The Thundermans .I was late and was frantically searching for my car keys. So I naturally asked him to lower the volume (as one does when looking for stuff). As I was leaving the lounge he says, “How does lowering the volume help your eyes find stuff?” I wanted to open a can of the medicine that my Cub mistress fed my insolent self all those years ago but I’ve heard scary things about our Child Protection Unit.
If I had a rand for every time folks who’ve met me after hearing my voice on the radio or reading my columns have said, “You know, I thought you were taller”, I’d have enough cash to become a player in state capture.
When people say this, I always have to remember to take a deep breath and clench my jaws really hard to avoid blurting out, “What does a tall person sound like?” Instead, I giggle nervously like Mr Bean and say, “People say that to me all the time.”
I’ve also had my fair share of people who have met me and said to me, “After reading your columns for years, I’ve always pictured you to be much older.” OK, I will concede that this could be a function of the tone of my writing style — essentially that I come across as a fuddy-duddy.
One of my favourite pastimes is participating in pointless, passionate debates — but there are things people say during debates that make me want to resign from life.
Let’s suppose that I argue that there is a higher probability of individuals from rural areas ascending to the presidency, based on the silly observation that Madiba, Mbeki and Zuma are all from rural villages. And because my co-combatant has no urban presidents to quote, he responds, “Well, that’s your opinion.” My opinion versus whose?
But that’s not so bad. My poundfor-pound most irritating thing folks say during a debate must be, “let’s just agree to disagree”. That line makes me want to wander the Gobi Desert in Mongolia wearing a robe and sandals like John the Baptist, mumbling unintelligible gibberish to myself until the Second Coming.
First of all, agreeing to disagree means we should continue debating, not stop; that would be disagreeing to disagree. Secondly, an abrupt end to a debate is worse than a sneeze that threatens to come but never does.
I guess what I’m saying is that the nitpickers of the world need to form a support group. I’m constantly having to swallow my knee-jerk reactions to innocuous utterances: “That’s so random” (As opposed to what schedule?); “I’ll be there in 30 minutes’ time” (As opposed to 30 minutes’ height?); “I pray to a living God” (I’m assuming that your God killed all the other Gods?); and one of my favourites: “Everything happens for a reason” (Really? So what is the reason for the nipples on men’s chests, then?).
LAn abrupt end to a debate is worse than a sneeze that threatens to come but never does