The Incredible Story(ies) of Two Clowns

As previously mentioned in these electronic pages, Two Clowns is a compulsive liar.

She's not the first one I've met.

In the SCA, an organization that specializes in attracting personality disorders of the most dazzling variety (and then rewards their dysfunctionality with promotions and aggrandizement), I knew a fellow who insisted that he was a mercenary pilot who flew missions into these vague but dangerous hotspots and was shot at and even wounded. Very shortly after the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, I ran into him at a party. He told me that on the morning of the attack(s), "They" (presumably CISUS, Canada's intelligence agency) called him to ask if it was possible for amateur pilots to hijack commercial aircraft and fly them into very large, very tall stationary objects.

"Well," I said, slowly, "presumably, since it happened, it can."

I was polite, however, and did not confront him with the obvious question: does Ottawa have no-one more qualified than him to consult? Is there no-one currently serving in the Canadian Armed Forces who can answer these questions?

This was only one of him many lies/exaggerations. Occasionally, when he has been caught in a lie, he admits to lying because the real truth is "classified" and "sensitive", so he has to obscure the big truth with many smaller ones.

I also knew this chick with whom I LARPed briefly, who lied all the fucking time about everything. When a friend of mine confronted her about her lying, she admitted to doing it. Her excuse, she said, was that my friend and I were such entertaining raconteurs and conversationalists that she felt compelled to lie so that she could "keep up".

(This is utter bullshit. I am not responsible for your rampant dishonesty; you are. Get the fuck out.)

Anyway, you'd think that my prior experience with compulsive liars would lend me some insight into the condition and how to deal with it. But I confess, I am at a loss. I simply do not understand the need to lie about everything all of the time.

Two Clowns is a prime example of the breed. It is very easy to see that her constant lying is a symptom of a much larger disorder, probably narcissistic personality disorder. I used to wonder why this woman chose to take her breaks and lunch hours with a bunch of billers instead of other managers; she didn't, in fact, seem to have any relationships with any of the other supervisory staff at the office. And now I know why: they don't play her reindeer games, and as mere billers, we are a captive and powerless audience.

Remember when I told you that, when we go for breaks, four of the seven women in our group pull out their phones and spend much of the fifteen minutes texting? It was revealed to me late last week that what they are doing is texting each other about Two Clowns's extraordinary bullshit. Apparently, a typical message from one of these girls to another, while Two Clowns is holding forth, is "OMG, STFU", or "Just kill me now."

In the last couple of weeks, Two Clowns has explained to me (because I don't have a phone to take sanctuary in, but let me tell you, it's looking more appealing by the day) that she

a) designed the office building in which we work, actually worked on the architectural plans and oversaw the erection of the structure (she's in a completely unrelated position with our company);

b) had a grandmother married to James Bailey of Barnum and Bailey Circus, a grandmother who, upon Bailey's death, was adopted by gypsies who taught her to read playing cards. This grandmother consequently taught Two Clowns how to read tarot, because she was the only grandchild with "the Gift";

c) was the first person in Canada--no scratch that, in North America--to buy a particular model of Fiat;

d) has an aunt Florrie who was "The Queen's Dressmaker" (now in her eighties) who has been invited to William and Kate's wedding. This last one makes me fucking insane. First off, Her Majesty does not have "dressmakers", she has British designers. And she may very well have staff to help her dress, but the reality of it is that staff do not get invited to Royal Weddings;

e) was a member of the Canadian Navy, which trained her to be an "assassin". I think the Armed Forces call them "snipers" or "sharpshooters", but in Two Clowns's mind, she's an ASSASSIN.

That's just some of the continual shit that spews out of Two Clowns's mouth at every given opportunity. And I have successfully resisted the urge to take this personally (i.e. "How stupid does she think we are?"), because this is very clearly all about her. And I suspect that, like Teeth's bullying, it comes out of a place of crippling insecurity.

But I really don't get it. I mean, seriously: why would you lie about stuff, especially when someone in the room might know something on the subject that you're lying about and confront you on the lie? Do compulsive liars rely on the fact that women, especially in polite Canada, are reluctant to confront lies and just let it pass? Or are these people incapable of embarrassment?

I know that if I ever got caught telling a whopper like some of these, I would be mortified. But these people either don't care or their need to lie is greater than their fear of social embarrassment.

I did a very little bit of research on compulsive lying on the internet (not the best source, I know, but...) and was shocked to learn that compulsive liars take comfort in lying. It becomes second nature, because telling the truth about anything is uncomfortable.

I cannot fathom this. I'm not presenting myself as a paragon of virtue or unfailing honesty--we all of us lie from time to time, and if some of my stories are entertaining, it is because I know where to embellish and how much. But my stories are all true. I simply cannot wrap my head around lying so outrageously and consistently that you are shunned by your peers and ridiculed by everyone else.

But clearly, as mentioned before, the lying is a symptom of something much deeper. The way Two Clowns talks about her children makes me feel all icky inside. She told us without apparent embarrassment how she bought personalized condoms for her boys. And she talks about the oldest one in such a way that...well, let's just say that I thought he was her husband, and I was shocked to discover that there IS no Mr. Two Clowns.

"Overbonded" is a word that applies here, I should think. Blech.

Anyway, if any of you can offer any insight into this particular dynamic, I'd be interested in hearing what you have to say.

Let me just go on record as saying, however, that I am hardly comforted by the thought that one of my managers is a complete whack-job.