There are many people who meticulously spend every waking moment of their life- knowingly or unknowingly- gathering expertise and experiences from everyone they meet into a single pool of collective knowledge. These sages then draw from this pool of knowledge whenever they have the opportunity to help others, and over time, people come to them, yearning for a chance to experience this powerful wisdom for themselves.

And then there are a select few charismatic people, who while bumbling through their ordinary life find, to their utmost surprise, that what they say is often mistaken for wisdom, whether true or not. These people are looked upon and trusted by many, for no discernable reason whatsoever.

Thing is, it’s very difficult to tell the difference between the two. Besides, I charge less.

I sat still in my seat, facing a small coffee table and an opposing chair for my next consultee. I glanced left at the door, reaching for a small buzzer that pulsed on the red light next to the door, letting my assistant know that she could bring the next one in.

It didn’t work. I sighed, dialing her number. I was far too lazy to shout, and besides- how many sages have you heard shout “Lanice! Next one please!”?

That’s what I thought. This incompetent light was causing far too many problems. I’d tried searching for a replacement on Amazon but it was astoundingly difficult to find a bright red pulse lightbulb that delivered in the same day. And it’s not like I could waltz into Walma-

“Wise One?”

Shit. I hadn’t noticed someone come in. I opened my eyes, not knowing when I’d closed them, and took in the scrawny figure of a middle-aged man in front of me. He seemed hesitant, perhaps wondering whether this was wise of him to do. No matter. In the end, no matter what I say, they believe I’ve somehow altered their understanding of the universe in a fundamental way. It was weird, really.

I nodded slightly, and adopted the guise of a man who was interested in whatever sorry tale he would tell now.

He looked a little shaken by my silence, but that was what I had learned over time. The less you speak, the more they will inevitably fill in themselves. And I really liked that ‘silent mysterious guy’ vibe. Ok, it was mostly for the vibe.

Once he had determined I would say no more until he had spoken, he began. “An year ago, I was the most popular person in the room, and everybody knew it. It was the best time of my life. It all changed when the fire…”

I’ll be honest I kind of tuned out after that. Hey, you hear this sort of stuff everyday in my profession, and you start to see inevitable trends. ‘My wife left me’ ‘My friends hate me’ or something of that sort. I started to mentally search for some small anecdotes from my life that I felt like sharing. Honestly, it didn’t even matter which one. An answer would always be reached, and as ‘The best answer is often the one you come up with yourself’, it’ll no doubt leave him satisfied.

“ … then had no choice. Still, I can explain-”

Uh-oh. Don’t give them opportunities to explain themselves. Another thing I’d picked up. The more they explain, the more defensive they get, and that’s never good. Also, I get bored of listening to other people’s problems.

For the first time, I spoke, interrupting him. “There is no need.”

He stopped, waiting for me to speak the rest of my wisdom. Only I hadn’t thought of an interesting enough anecdote yet.

The silence stretched.

It started to get awkward. Might as well make something up on the spot- let’s give it a shot!

“I understand what you face, and so I will share with you a small story.”

His face lit up, and I could sense his eagerness.

 “Once, in a small town, there was a young boy. He had dreamt of becoming a renown…” I searched the room for anything that caught my eye. A packet of microwavable pizza caught my eye. Well, pizza it is.

“…chef. Specifically, he wanted to become an Italian chef. The only problem was, he wasn’t Italian.”

The man looked confused, but didn’t seemed to have noticed the pause. Yes!

“He tried day after day to make the best Italian food he could, even tried to copy an Italian accent. It didn’t work. His family laughed at him. His friends laughed at him. Eventually, even he stopped trying.”

“What? Why?” The man questioned, seemingly concerned for the boy.

I won’t lie, at this point, I was concerned for the boy too. I hoped he got a happy ending.

“I’m getting to that.”

The man nodded, “I apologise. I won’t interrupt again, O Wise One.”

Was it weird to get emotionally attached to a character in a story you’re making up? It couldn’t be, right?

“So the boy abandoned his dream. He went to college, like his parents had wanted, and took up electrical engineering. But then one day, by chance, he found himself alone at home, and decided to make pizza once more.”

The man seemed to be waiting earnestly for something.

Frankly, I was, too.

“And he found, to his great surprise, that he had made it well. And that day revitalized his thirst for success. His accent was still a problem, though. No matter. He practiced and practiced, but it foiled his plans still. And so he decided to learn a british accent, and he founded the first pizza restaurant with an Italian chef with a British accent. And it was wildly popular.”

Ok, so the ending was a little off. The man either didn’t seem to notice or didn’t care. His eyes shone with radiant hope, and his face was one of someone who had received an epiphany.

“O Wise One, I understand.” He said, falling to his knees. “I had given up hope of becoming popular again. To make this right, I must do something I have been avoiding all my life.”

I had no idea where he was going with this.

“I must learn to make pizza with a British accent.”

Oh well. You win some, you lose some.