He always started every group with the slow hand clap; some of the attendants even joining in like little cymbal-clanging wind-up monkeys.
"Congratulations." His voice a sonic boom of discouragement. "You've made it; give yourselves a pat on the back." This is how he introduced himself, the De-motivational Speaker of the century. By this point, the slow hand clapping had ceased, except for any straddlers that failed to find the brooding sarcasm in the cramped room.
With a smile and a nod at his monkeys all clapping themselves on their backs, he puts his feet under the table. "Each and every one of you should be proud of yourselves for getting to where you are today." Arms in the air encompassing the room in which they are all gathered; a projection screen prepped and ready behind him, motivational posters of sunsets and success on all four walls. Classic false sense of security; these monkeys weren't monkeys but lambs being led toward the slaughterhouse. "Especially those of you who actually managed to get here on time."
This was always the point at which the faces of everyone in the room un-creased. With one of his trademark smiles that slipped between humour and goading, he would work his eyes around the room, oozing pity into the crowd. "You've made it this far all by yourselves." A nod at this point to dismiss the fragrant unease in the room. "And, look at you." Another nod to single out the first victim of the class, others around the room would turn to feed off. "What are you, twenty-five and already balding?" It has been know for him to pick out a female with that remark, true story.
A comment like that aligns the rest of the room squarely with him; the fear of being singled out will do that to a pack of strangers, they will side with the dominant one, it's purely animal instinct.
He doesn't wait for a reply, that's not why he asks the questions. Another good first hit is acne or dandruff, whatever's on offer. To him it's like a bargain basket at the end of the aisle. If it's a cheap shot, he'll take it to the counter.
In any one session, there will be managers alongside their middle-management; shop floor employees slouching at the back behind personal assistants taking notes in their little spiral notepads. More recently, those kids you see on these reality TV auditions with way too much confidence, they're right on the front row with a slowly diminishing grin.
"Let me guess: were the buses late, eh?" Dividing and conquering. "Maybe the train was delayed, is that it?" Watching the heads drop one by one. "I know: your ten-year-old heap-of-scrap car refused to start again this morning?"
Once the armpits begin leaking through to the naked eye, oval patches of moisture making the material semi-transparent, he spins to face the same direction they're all facing, his back to them. "You are all grown adults; only children make excuses. There is no such word as can't. And, if you can't even manage to get here on time, you're just not trying hard enough." Whirling back around on his heels to face them all again, head cocked back on his neck like he's getting ready to spit across the room. "Who amongst you were late for your own wedding?" Arms and shoulders up in wait. "Better yet, who missed the birth of their first child?" The small groups they cower before him while he smiles that bleached-teeth-smug-smile of the all powerful. When nobody seems brave enough to answer, he gives a little shrug to the disaffected and asks who of them have actually managed to fool another living individual into being with them long enough to convince them of a relationship, let alone conceive a child?
At this act in his play, if you haven't yet swallowed your own head in forlorn, check out the speaker's crotch; see that steeple rising up against the zipper? This is the man that loves what he does for a living; how many other people could say that?
The uneasy silence that follows is always a challenge to his domination; he routinely throws open the room to the crowd to come back and attack before they are well and truly beaten. Watch any decent stand up comedian worth his salt handle a heckler from the audience; this is what the speaker lives for.
"Unlike all of you, I am never late because I do not rely on anyone but me." A trademark shrug and a smile. "I am never late for appointments because I do not make appointments with anyone; people make appointments with me. That, my friends, is the difference between you and me."
Picking up the remote for the projector, he'll walk through the flinching crowd to the back of the room before hitting the button. On screen, in big capital letters, one question: WHY ARE YOU HERE?
Everyone has lost their tongues; they are all afflicted with muteness.
"Anyone?" The Speaker, he's not looking for philosophical. When the silence persists, he'll give them another friendly nudge; "Even prisoners know why they're in prison, come on; why are you here?" More stiffness in the room, keep it up long enough and someone will have to blurt out something just to fill the void. Sometimes, he will leave it long enough; it has been known for an hour to pass and no one say a single word or even move their heads toward the back of the room. If he decided to nip out of the room, no one would even notice; they'd all just stay there chins against their chests in the foetal position.
With an exhale of impatience the speaker will click and point until the projector reads just one word: Narcissistic.
"Every single person in this room is on that screen." Allowing the truth to sink in before removing himself from the back wall and back to the front of the class. "You are all here because whoever sent you thought to themselves: 'The Ego Has Landed'." Squaring up to the people who might now be starting to get a little irked by the way the speaker was talking to them. "Although, so far, I've yet to categorise any of you as a narcissist, separated as you are from familiarity, your comfort zone has become your crumple zone and I am your speeding juggernaut."
Seats firmly in the upright position, this is the part of the show where our speaker will start to knead his fledglings. With a laugh a little too close to a cackle, he will say: "Some of you are so self-absorbed that you won't even know what a narcissist is." Shaking his head at his own joke, because he can. "You are all working for someone who doesn't like you very much; that is the reason you are all here, sitting in front of me."
If a group gets as far as here without at least one person standing up for themselves, watch that surge of pride in the speaker's pants.
Another click and the screen changes; the new word in front of everyone is dead. "I used to be where you are, back before I started this." Perching himself on a table or stage; whatever there is, at about waist height, at the front of the crowd. Any sense of empathy this man is capable of is shown here, at this juncture only. It is a one-time offer, never to be repeated. "Lying in my hospital bed a near vegetable following a car accident that was my fault then a hospital infection following the operation, I was at death's door."
Some groups might applaud at this. Though not many.
"A big-time drunk that had everything without really having anything; the guy in the bed next to mine in a coma and I was the one that put him there with my own selfish, spiteful indifference." A glimmer of hope in a sea of lost souls. Until he smiled a wry smile that brought to the forefront his shiny white veneers.
"Is that what you wanted to hear?"
A stunned silence; this man had nothing noteworthy about him at all. If nothing else, this travesty got a reaction; people have even been known to get up and walk out leaving behind a belly full of bad language.
"Ladies and gentleman, my ego is for real; I got this far, not because I survived some hardship, but because I wanted to get this far and I did it on my own. You people, on the other hand, won't get any further; you have reached the end of the road. Where you are now, is as high as you're ever going to get and this is what your employers want you to know." It was an almost life-changing reaction to see, fifteen to thirty faces flushing with embarrassment or anger; not only did they hate their jobs, now they hated the monsters that forced them to endure that nine-to-five of slavery.
"And, don't get shitty with them, either; if they had the balls to say what I'm saying, they wouldn't need me. They may be higher up in the world than you, but they aren't standing where I am."
No class would ever get to this stage in the proceedings without at least one word from the gallows. Watch the Speakers fists clench in preparation; that bulge in his trousers an uncomfortable sight of straining fabric.
