Late Submission

Sebastian was once so late for a party that he pretended to have just recovered from Hepatitis B. He then proceeded to lick anyone on sight if they refused to believe him.

By Sebastian Moronell
Late Submission
This is hilarious!

An exchange that may have happened between Sebastian and the gracious and punctual editor of Nkwazi. You know how these conversations always start, right? With hope. False hope:

Editor: Just a reminder, Sebastian, your column was due two weeks ago. (Now, I panicked. So naturally, I did what any professional writer would do in this situation.)

Sebastian: heysFt83F

Editor: Huh?

Sebastian: Sorry, my keyboard was stuck.

(Perfect recovery, right? Flawless. Like a gymnast landing a triple backflip into a pit of excuses.)

Editor: That's happened the past three times I've contacted you.

Sebastian: Yes, it's a recurring problem. Like arthritis. Especially in the cold.

Editor: Is that why your column is late?

Sebastian: No.

Editor: Then…?

Sebastian: Oh, I was just explaining why I said heysFt83F in the first place. (You see, I'm helpful like that. I answer the questions nobody asked while systematically avoiding the ones they did.)

Editor: Okay. Why is your column late?

Sebastian: Oh, I can't remember.

Editor: How can you not remember?

Sebastian: I feel like that's a philosophical question I am unable to answer.

Editor: What's philosophical about it?

Sebastian: Well, if I could remember what I could not remember, then I would remember it in the first place, and I wouldn't have to say that I couldn't remember it. (The circular logic of a man desperately buying time while his career circles the drain.)

Editor: Why do you always do this?

Sebastian: Do what?

Editor: Speak in riddles. And lie.

Sebastian: That seems like another philosophical question.

Editor: It's not a question.

Sebastian: Really? In my head, you had that questioning tone. The one you're always using with me. (You know the tone. The one that suggests your editor is simultaneously disappointed in you as a writer AND as a human being.)

Editor: That's because I'm always asking you where your column is.

Sebastian: And I'm always asking pointed social questions through laughter.

Editor: You make jokes about yourself mostly.

Sebastian: Exactly – I am the social problem. (Finally! Some self-awareness! It only took three weeks past the deadline to achieve it.)

Editor: We can finally agree on something.

Sebastian: That's a bit rude, isn't it? (Yes, I was offended that my editor agreed with me calling myself a social problem. The logic is flawless. But then—oh, then—my editor did something beautiful. Something I didn't expect.)

Editor: Oh no, I was agreeing in the philosophical sense.

Sebastian: What does that even mean?

Editor: Well, if we could agree about what I could not agree on, then I would agree with it in the first place, and I wouldn't have to say that I couldn't agree on it. (She was learning. Adapting. Using my own weapons against me.)

Sebastian: That's gibberish, but I see what you're doing. You're funny, aren't you?

Editor: Well, I'm not a social problem, if that's what you're asking.

Sebastian: Ha ha.

Editor: Even your laughs sound sarcastic.

Sebastian: That one was. Hazard of the job.

Editor: I wouldn't call this a job…

Sebastian: You're right, I'm not paid enough to call this a job.

Editor: This again? We gave you a branded water bottle.

Sebastian: You spelt my name wrong.

Editor: Must be the keyboard. A recurring problem. Like arthritis. Especially in the cold.

Sebastian: You're wittier than you used to be. You must be reading my column regularly.

Editor: I'm probably the only one who looks out for your writing.

Sebastian: I'm honoured. But I have other fans.

Editor: Do you? You complain that you don't have any friends.

Sebastian: I'm working on it.

Editor: Like you're working on your column?

Sebastian: Yes.

Editor: Tomorrow, Sebastian, no later. (And here, faced with an actual deadline with actual consequences, I responded with the eloquence of a true wordsmith.)

Sebastian: F**k.

Editor: Keyboard?

Sebastian: Sure, we can say that.

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