They call that the halo effect.
What?
What I was just saying. It’s the idea that if you form a positive opinion of someone, then that person can do much that you’ll find wrong. You’ll look for reasons to explain bad behavior away.
There’s silence.
You mean, he says, that if you think I’m a good guy, then stuff I do, maybe some pretty bad stuff, you’ll sort of give me a pass?
Well, pretty bad, I guess. But not rape or murder. There’s no way I’d give anyone a pass on that. Even if were a family member. Not murder for sure.
There’s more silence. I can smell the tobacco smoke as he lights up a cigarette.
So how do you form this positive opinion?
Oh, all kinds of ways. Let’s say I see a photograph of you. You have a $100 haircut. Wear a $1500 suit and a $500 pair of shoes. I might think, Wow, this guy has got his act together. I admire him for that.
Eh, If I saw someone like that, he says, I’d think he was some kind of rich asshole with a wise mouth who needed a good pounding.
Oh, well, okay. Maybe that was a bad example. Let’s say I’ve never met you but I hear you give a great speech at a fundraiser for the homeless, and I hear you volunteer at the Institute for Human Services. I might – well, I would – form a positive opinion of you.
There’s silence.
And? he asks.
And so if I find out, say, that you’re being investigated by the IRS for tax evasion, I might think, Nah, can’t be. He’s probably just forgotten to file.
Huh.
He does a long exhale.
So even if I do cheat on my taxes, you’d still think I was a pretty good guy.
Ah, well, um, if I found out you were intentionally trying to get away with tax fraud, I’m afraid helping the homeless wouldn’t be enough to forgive cheating the government. Sorry. That’s just me.
He laughs. You’re shitting me. You think that it’s more important to pay your taxes than it is to help people find food and one place to live. What the hell? You haven’t got a $500 pair of shoes at home, huh?
I shake my head. No, I don’t. The most expensive pair of shoes I have is maybe an $80 pair of running shoes.
Kinda crappy running shoes, he says.
I nod. Yeah, not great. But then I don’t have a lot of money now that I’m retired. I kind of live paycheck to paycheck.
He chuckles. One step away from needing food and shelter, huh?
I nod again. Well, yeah. I mean I could sell my house. Then I’d have money.
So you’re what they call cash-poor and land-rich.
Yes, that’s it. That’s what I am.
So you’re a borderline asshole, then. It could go either way. I gotta say, Mister, it’s kind of a struggle, me trying to see that halo around your head.
Who me? Oh, no. I’m not saying anyone would have a positive enough image of me to give me the benefit of the doubt for questionable actions. I’m saying you’re the one I can imagine folks having a good opinion of.
He laughs again. Eh, anyone who doesn’t know me has a better opinion of me, automatic, than anyone who knows me.
Aw, come on, I say. I’m sure you’re being too hard on yourself. You make it sound like you have self-confidence issues or something.
There’s a long silence.
Finally, he says, Look, you’re kind of getting on my nerves. I don’t know why you brought up this whole halo effect thing, but I got a bad feeling you’re trying to con me, Mister. Like as in flattery will get you everywhere.
Who me? Oh no no no. Why would I do that? I was just trying to pass the time here. You know. Pleasant conversation. It helps time go by. That’s all.
Well, he says, I gotta say that this conversation, on the pleasant scale, has kinda pissed me off now. When you start playing games with my head, I want to not be real buddy-buddy with you. I mean, if you had a $500 pair of shoes, I’d be tempted to make you eat ‘um right about now.
Hey, hey, I say. You’re taking this all the wrong way. Okay, so you’re forming a pretty bad opinion of me. But me, I definitely have developed a wonderful opinion of you. I have a feeling you’re a great guy, so if –
So if I don’t rape or kill you, you’ll let any other stuff go?
Ah . . .
I have to think carefully about how I answer this. This conversation has not, I would say, gone well. I’m no psychologist. And I fear it’s showing.
Ah, maybe?
Maybe how?
Well, what did you have in mind?
Maybe slapping your head.
Oh no no no. That’s not going to be something I’d let go.
Oh really, he says. That’s too bad, Mister, cuz I might do it anyway. I kinda don’t give a shit what you think about me one way or another.
A long silence. Especially on my part. I can tell he’s right at the breaking point now. I could set him off. Should I just keep my mouth shut?
What? he says. No more smart words?
I still keep my mouth shut.
The door opens.
How’s he doing? the other one asks.
Running his mouth. I think I might punch him a couple times for good luck.
No, don’t do that, the other one says. They ain’t gonna like it if you do.
Yeah, okay okay. But I don’t wanna sit here listening to his bullshit much longer.
Then leave ‘um. Come outside. He ain’t going no place. If we gotta babysit ‘um, no mean we gotta sit with ‘um.
Yeah. True dat.
He gets up and leaves. The door closes.
I try the ropes around my wrists with no luck. I move my feet. The ones around my ankles are tighter.
It would help if could see. But blindfolded. What a mess.
I have no idea what they want with me. And I have to say, even though that’s the first time I’ve heard the other guy speak, I’ve formed a negative opinion of him. These two, they’re no angels.
Lanning Lee 