In The Clink

"You only lie to make yourself look like cool, like you're better and more successful than other people." If you say this to me, I will throw a shoe at you.

I mean, seriously?

I would never do that.  I'm already convinced of my own awesomeness, thanks.  My lies aren't pre-planned public relations strategies. 

Lies are, as so eloquently described in Mean Girls, "word vomit."  A funny idea or random claim flies out of my mouth, and then I build a story around it, so no one thinks I'm making stuff up. 

I seriously can't clarify it any more than that.  Sorry. 

And to prove that I'm don't try to make myself look any more awesome, I hereby present to you.... today's lie:

At work, while trying to surreptitiously enjoy a bowlful of cheesecake, a policeman comes in to arrest a patient (not nearly as exciting as it sounds).  A smart-assed co-worker, undoubtedly jealous of my cheesecake, asks when they're coming back to haul me off. 

Haha, hilarious.  I tell him that "I've never actually been arrested, thanks." 

Naturally, he latches onto the "actually."  "Wait, what?" 

The opportunity presented itself, and as per usual, I was powerless before it.  "Yeah.  Like, five years ago, I almost got arrested.  I talked my way out of it, though, thankfully.  I don't think I'm built for jail." 

Also as per usual, I was met with a sideways glance, as my lie target attempted to gauge my sincerity.  This pause is a weak moment; I advise all prospective liars to learn to seize it immediately. 

"Seriously.  My sorority sisters and I were talking one night, and I told them about how much I want a nose job, but I probably have to break my nose first if I want insurance to cover the rhinoplasty.  I even admitted that in high school, I played soccer because I'd hoped some steroid-enraged player would elbow me in the face, very squarely on my nose, of course.  Naturally, in the name of sisterhood, they decide to take me to a playground, start a soccer game, and see if I can get a new nose." 

Not to herald my own brilliance too much, but cuing in on my nasal insecurities totally sold this lie.  Anyone who's known me longer than an hour knows I'm obsessed with it.  Once the story sounded real, I wrapped it up before I got too carried away. 

"Anyway, like, two goals in, a squad car pulls up, and they start shining flashlights into our faces and scaring the bejeesus out of us.  Did you know playgrounds have a closing time? They actually did arrest one girl for trespassing, I think because she was crying hysterically and basically being a pain in the ass.  Too bad they can't write that on the arrest record, though.  But, because lying to cops is a generally bad idea, I told them the nose-and-soccer story, and they let me go." 

"No way.  That didn't happen." 

"Of course it did!! Think about it: if a girl told you that story, would you really arrest her? Or would you send her on, to play soccer and get her new nose like she always wanted?' 

And... SOLD. Though I suppose detractors could argue that I told that story to make myself sound like a badass. 

However, I truly believe that whatever coolness I earned by talking my way out of an arrest, I immediately negated by the sheer dumb-assery of my fake crime.  If I'm going to tell an impressive story of illegality, it would most likely go like this:

I was in New York on vacay, when my friends and I saw Billy Murray and James Franco in a bar in the East Village.  They're working on some project together, maybe? I don't know; maybe they were lying to us.  Maybe they just like drinking together.  Anyway, we get brave and ask them to take a picture with us, because obvi, it's too amazing of a photo op not to.  They thought we were funny, so they actually talked to us, and one thing led to another, and I said that I always wanted to go to the zoo at midnight.  AND THEY SAID THAT SOUNDED AWESOME.  Next thing I know, we're in the Central Park zoo, wondering if an owl or penguin would win in a fistfight.  SERIOUSLY. We get busted, of course, which was terrifying, but before we actually get arrested, the cops ask us why we're there.  And I guess, since we had nothing to lose, I burst forth with this impassioned speech about seizing the day, and photo ops, and blah blah blah... anyway, we get escorted out of the zoo, but not arrested.  IT WAS AMAZING.  

THAT, my friends, is a make-yourself-awesome lie.  Which, by the way, can very easily turn into a make-yourself-sound-douchey lie.

Tread carefully.