Unfortunate enough to work with a Walter Mitty type, the guy you normally encounter in the pub whose stories all come down to how great he is, his cat’s blacker than your cat, if you’ve been to Tenerife he’s been to Elevenerife, etc.
Anyway, just tonight we’ve found out that a colleague of ours has died. He was sent home a few weeks ago feeling a bit under the weather, and has gone downhill since, ending up in intensive care with pneumonia, among oher things, before we found out he’d sadly passed today, which has obvious come as a shock for everyone.
So, Walt’s just taken advantage of tonight’s sad news to tell us the tale of how he cured himself of cancer, having done his research and discovered an Ontario Indian technique that big pharma doesn’t want you to know about, and how his sister, tears in her eyes, had told him if he’d only done his research a year earlier, he could have saved their parents, who both died of cancer.
I mean, I’m not a confrontational person, and I don’t seek out conflict, but jumping on somebody else’s death to tell a tale that ends with how great you are is low, really ******* low, and having also lost my own dad to cancer when I was 24, listening to that touched a nerve, and it took pretty much everything I had to not launch myself out of my chair at him. It’s as though by implication that he’s calling everyone whose ever died from cancer stupid, and they’d be alive now if only they were as clever him. Words fail me.
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