Goblins Part I: Where It Began
Well, this morning the goblins came back.
I was frying up some bacon and eggs when the doorbell rang, and there he was again, sitting on shoulders of another goblin, who was standing on a rickety wooden crate, which, judging by the state of their clothing, they perhaps had scavenged from a dumpster somewhere.
This whole arrangement allowed them to reach the doorbell.
I briefly considered punting them down the steps into the very small crowd of additional goblins milling about the front yard, scavenging for insects to eat, arguing with each other or with nothing at all, attempting to sexually assault the plastic lawn flamingo, and so on.
But they weren't actually hurting anyone. Besides, I've paid good money to get into comedy clubs with less amusing acts.
"So to what," I asked, "do I owe the pl — the experience of your visit?"
"We have decided," the first goblin announced, with an air of absolute seriousness, like a king declaring war, or a five year old explaining what kind of dinosaur he was today, "to inform you why we banned you from The Competition."
"Have you?"
"Yes! You should be grateful. We don't have to do this, you know, according to the —"
"Rules you wrote on the napkin, which are the rules because the rules on the napkin say so. Yes, yes, I get it. Get to the point already. If you have one."
The point, however, was briefly delayed as the box-goblin, evidently tired from holding up his compatriot, fell off the box, spilling both of them onto the front porch.
I did try not to laugh, but I am only flesh and blood, and some temptations are irresistible.
However, after some rubbing of bruises and gathering of shredded dignity and a brief additional pause to break up a fight over the hand of the much-abused lawn flamingo, the goblin did, eventually, get to the point.
"We banned you because.... some people said mean things to us!"
The small green creature paused, evidently expecting some sort of a reaction, perhaps a round of applause from its compatriots, who had abandoned the lawn ornament, but were busily occupied throwing sticks at the neighbor's poodle. The other goblin on the porch — perhaps a sort of lieutenant — did seem to understand that something was expected, but had only one hand available, the other forefinger being quite occupied with exploring the recesses of his nose.
"People said mean things to... wait. What people?"
"People! People who like you!"
"So, people other than me?"
"Yes."
I'm not an expert on goblins, but by this point I had figured out that self-awareness, along with hygiene, is not their strong suit.
But sometimes, you just have to respond with a sarcastic stare.
It had no noticeable effect.
"People other than me said mean things to you."
"Yes. And you didn't tell them to stop!"
"Well, no, I suppose I didn't. I don't quite know where I got the idea that I'm supposed to safeguard you from anything that might hurt your feel — oh, wait. It's written on the napkin, isn't it?"
"Yes! Well, no, but... ah... it's implied. Err... have you got a pen?"
I did not, as it turned out, have a pen. I had a spatula. And a Glock 43x in my back pocket. Which I had thought I might need, because at the time the doorbell rang, I hadn't fully understood that goblins can apparently be put on the back foot by harsh words.
Or by the allure of whatever shiny object the other goblins had found in my driveway and were currently fighting over.
"You can write it in later. Do you have any notion — and I realize this requires you to imagine the mindset of another living being — why they wanted to say mean things to you?"
"They were mad about us banning you!"
"Hold on a minute. Some people were upset about you banning me."
"Yes."
"And they said mean things to you."
"Yes! It was horrible!"
"And that's why you banned me?"
"Yes! Now apologize!"
I did not, needless to say, apologize. Not merely because I didn't feel any particular sense of culpability, but also because my skills as a professional writer, which I've been told are formidable, still probably wouldn't be up to the challenge of constructing that sentence.
Nevertheless, my own self-defeating sense of morbid curiosity had a thread to pull.
"So you banned me for something someone did because you banned me?"
"Yes. Now are you going to apologize or not?"
"Time does flow in the same direction for you guys, right?"
"Huh?"
So there I was, left with the alternatives of trying to explain causality to a goblin, or simply shutting the door and calling the exterminators.
Who, as I later found out, apparently don't believe in goblins.
