I would ask for directions and all would start off normally: “Go down Fourth Street and take a right on Poplar.”
But then all would slide into a fog of incomprehensibility and I would keep nodding furiously to try to persuade the person
that I could follow what was being said: “Then you toggle over that spur of the thruway that goes under the overpass before the six roundabouts of the gargle.”
By this time entire hemispheres of my brain had shut down, and as the person kept talking, my entire existence slipped into a catatonic mist: “After
that it’s just six wheedles up the perplex and after a quick stop at the bolint it’s the 27th driveway on the right.”
The incompetent person in the Trump administration has to live in that stupor shroud every day.
It is in its own way a privilege to be alive at the same time as a man who is the Albert Einstein of confirmation bias, a man whose most impressive wall is the one between himself
and evidence, a man who doesn’t need to go off in search of enemies because he is already his own worst one.
I hope his team continues to take advantage of the fact that it takes only one inexperienced stooge to undo the accomplishments of 100 normal workers.
Just to take a small example by way of illustration, in the days before GPS I
was (and remain) profoundly incompetent at comprehending driving directions.
