Strange times.

Two of my co-workers were talking about a guy that works in the meat department. They were singing his praises:

"Julian is such a nice guy. He did my clean-ups for me, without even being asked!"

"I know, he's the best. He's always willing to do favours for you."

"And he's a great conversationalist. Always willing to listen."

"Last week, I left my wallet at home, and he lent me some money so I could pick up a lunch."

And so on, and so forth. I didn't say anything. I just worked over in my side of the deli, slicing turkey and serving customers. I don't deal well with my "serious" co-workers, mostly because they take everything I say too damned seriously. And, like a serial killer who wants it all to end but can't do it, I don't know how to stop myself.

"Hey, Dave, what do you think of Julian?"

I winced. Ask Dave an honest question, and he'll give you a complete bullshit answer, mostly because he's bored. "Well, I'm not a huge fan of him."

"Oh?" I could hear my co-worker's eyebrows raise up - hell, you could hear that shit from space. Saying you don't like Julian is like saying you voted conservative, or that you think Carrottop is actually kind of funny - it's the shitty skid mark in the world of conversational flounders. "Why not?"

I briefly consider fessing up that, actually, I think Julian is a pretty cool guy. But then I realize that would mean I agreed with my serious co-workers. And I'm a firm believer in that old Groucho Marx bit about never joining clubs that would let me in, yadda yadda yadda.

Naturally, when it comes to shit like this, I pull the hipster card. "Would you believe that idiot thinks that The Suburbs is a better Arcade Fire album than Funeral? And he thinks Sheer Heart Attack is a better Queen album than The Game?"

There is a long pause. "I don't think that's a good reason to dislike someone, Dave."

"Have you listened to Sheer Heart Attack? How can you trust someone who has listened to both Queen albums and doesn't think The Game is categorically better? It'd be like trusting an alcoholic to be your designated driver."

There is another long pause. And an awkward silence. "Personal taste can't be judged."

FYI: People who say that have a record collection that is filled with ABBA, Lionel Ritchie, Meat Loaf, and Creed. Personal taste can be judged. Mercilessly.

Naturally, I say the only thing I could in this sort of situation: "That's only what people with crappy taste say."

I have to say... it's fun messing with my serious co-workers.

In unrelated news, my hours got cut back.

Again.