“There are two kinds of people in the world,” the little man with the big title said. “The committee people and the lone rangers. You’re going to have to decide what type of people you are.”

Many witty responses raced through my head. Although on second look they weren’t as witty as I had first thought. They passed quietly through my filters. This little man’s big title was enough for me not to make light of his comments. He looked at me seriously. He was trying to tell me something and it was important. Or at least he thought it was important. I wasn’t sure if he was waiting for an answer or if his comment was more rhetorical. He sometimes wedged in long silences when he spoke. I think he meant the silences as emphasis. It was hard not to smile during those uncomfortable moments. He looked weighty and breathed defiantly, as if each breath was an accent point on his silence. It was as funny as it sounded. But I took this silence for one of those emphasis silences and I waited for him to continue. It didn’t take long.

“The way the world works is simple.” He spoke to me as I would to a child. The way he said it made his intention clear: it was simple for him to explain but difficult for me to understand. It was more something I’d see when I was older. “Decisions are made by people in the right positions. These people have long-standing experiences, and they have the ears of many important people. The great thing about important people is that they like to get together with other important people to make important decisions. These important people are the committee people. Their committees are the real power behind the agencies.”

The little man scratched and rubbed wildly at his hair. His hair was curly and thick, spreading out like a halo around his head. It gave him a good two inches at its top. He could make a dog with fleas proud. It was one of the little man’s many ticks. We were taught to ignore them and smile calmly. It wouldn’t have mattered what we did. The little man never paid us much attention except to lecture at us. The scratching grew more forceful and dangerous looking. I imagined the scene of the security rushing in to find the little man with a bloody head and fingernails, pointing one stubby finger at me. I practiced my innocent look, but I knew not even my mother would believe it. There was only one way to distract the little man.

“And lone rangers,” I asked nobody in particular. We weren’t supposed to speak directly to the little man. I chose a blue splotch of paint on the otherwise gray-white walls. It looked like someone had tested paint colors to brighten the room, but had decided that the test stripe was bright enough that the rest of the paint was unnecessary. I had to admit they had good taste. Any more color would drown out the drab furniture, plaid flooring tiles, and white plaster ceiling blocks, which, when I stared at long enough, I could turn inside out, converting the uneven poke-marked holes into mountains ranges.

“I see you are paying attention,” the little man said. You never knew what type of response you would get from him when you spoke. It wasn’t about the compliments or the intelligence of the statement. I had heard the little man respond positively to a single word response that had nothing to do with his own statement, and then go off on an intern when she tried to intelligently discuss the alternative energy lobby, which he was denigrating to a most excellent degree. It wasn’t that she disagreed with him. Nobody disagreed with the little man.

We now believed that the little man’s reactions are completely independent of our intentions or words. There are supernatural factors involved in understanding his response. We wrote whole books of rituals to ensure that when we did respond, the little man would receive it in its most positive light. It was the phrenology of modern times. A way for us to feel control of forces we could not understand.

“The lone rangers are the antithesis of the committee people,” the little man said. “A lone ranger believes he is smart enough and capable enough to make decisions on his own. His belief is very dangerous. Committee people know this. They know there are lots of people that are smarter than them. This is what cultured and realistic people understand. And since there are smarter people than themselves walking this planet, they should consult them to come to a consensus on what needs to be done. It is only once the committee researches a decision after much debate, research, polls, deep thinking, and detailed reports that a decision should be made as the group. Individuals should never have that type of power. A lone ranger skips over this important step and decides based on insignificant information and personal feelings.”

I am definitely a lone ranger. I wouldn’t tell the little man that, of course. He was the chairman of the committees. He believed that the more committee men, the larger his chair. He didn’t understand that the size of the chair was only based on the size of the ass trying to sit in it. If he knew that simple truth, he wouldn’t have to worry about what type of people I was. I understood immediately that this was not an emphasis silence. He wanted me to respond. He was in what he and the other committee people would consider a deep and meaningful conversation.

I nodded slowly at first and then accelerated my head until my head felt ready to bounce off my neck and onto the floor. “Where do I sign,” I said.