I’m explaining to Karen, Dave, and Rachel in the office break room how I know more about polling than any of those so-called “experts” on TV. They’re all just drinking their coffee and pretending to listen, but I can tell they’re impressed.
“I mean, it’s simple math,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. “If you look at the numbers, you can clearly see that—”
Karen interrupts me, her voice dripping with condescension. “Actually, Hal, that’s not how it works. You need to consider sampling bias and margin of error.”
I scoff. “Oh, please, Karen, I know all about that stuff. I’ve taken online courses.” I glance at Dave and Rachel for support, but they’re just exchanging a skeptical look.
“Really?” Karen raises an eyebrow. “Because your interpretation sounds like something a grade schooler would come up with.”
My face starts to heat up. Who does she think she is? “I’m telling you, my analysis is spot on,” I insist. “You just don’t want to admit it because you’re too caught up in your own biases.”
Dave tries to intervene, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, Hal, maybe we should—”
But I shrug him off. “No way, I know what I’m talking about.” My voice raises, and now the whole office is starting to stare.
Aunt Mildred walks in on our argument and immediately takes Karen’s side, because of course she would. “Hal, you’re being ridiculous,” she says firmly.
Ridiculous? Me? Never. “You just don’t get it, Aunt Mildred,” I shoot back, my tone dripping with disdain.
Glen from HR walks in on the commotion and tries to calm everyone down, but I’m having none of it. “I’m being silenced!” I shout, throwing up my hands. “This is censorship!”
Now we’re attracting a crowd from other departments. Michael from accounting chimes in, correcting me on some minor point about statistical analysis. But I won’t be swayed.
“This is all just a conspiracy to undermine my genius,” I declare, surveying the room with an air of triumph.
But instead of admiration, everyone looks at me like I’m crazy. My face burns as they start to murmur among themselves, clearly doubting my sanity.
I realize too late that maybe, just maybe, I’ve overplayed my hand. But it’s too late now. The situation has spiralled out of control, and all I can do is keep digging myself deeper into this hole.
As the crowd disperses, muttering about “Hal’s latest meltdown,” I stand alone in the break room, still loudly proclaiming my expertise to no one in particular.
“No, really, it’s a landslide.”