A friend told me an interesting story this week. A man in their office was totally incompetent. Did not know his head from a hole in the ground. He was finally fired after it was discovered he had been shoplifting women’s garments from an area department store. The next they heard about him, he was in the same business except in a governmental capacity with a lot higher salary. The sad truth? Life is about the survival of the dumbest.

You see various forms of the aforementioned on a daily basis in work and in life, such as The Martyr. This individual’s every erg of energy in the office is likened to Sisyphus who is, as of this writing, spending eternity in hell repeatedly rolling a huge boulder to the top of a hill, only to see it roll back down again.

I was once told that the way to appear busy at work is to continually act like you are in a hurry as you rush through the office, huffing and puffing along the way. The Martyr takes this feint and turns it into an art form.

Then there is The Announcer. Their perceived job, aside from the daily duties that come with an honest day’s labor, is to give a running commentary on the obvious that occurs during a normal work shift. You know the type: the person who, in a loud voice, introduces everyone who comes in the door, with a hearty “Why, there’s Bill!” or “Looky here! There’s Mary walking in five minutes late.” Nothing is too minute for these savants of the self-evident: from a play-by-play of your meal to opinions on the latest office fashion trends, the Announcer’s work is, like their real work, never done.

A cousin of the Announcer is the Rhymer, who crows while reading newspaper ads (a tinge of pride swelling inside), “There’s a sale on meat! Isn’t that sweet,” or while at the office announcement board cackling “A company meeting? I hope they have seating.” It makes you want to impale yourself with a spork.

Not to be confused with The Announcer is The Commentator. This irksome individual blathers about every highway billboard, road sign or TV ad as if it were part of some ACT test in the Twilight Zone. Yes, I can see seven states from Rock City. I can also read and comprehend the sign myself, thank you very much.

A quick aside: for a long time there was, just outside of Mount Orab, a billboard emblazoned with the words (and I’m paraphrasing here) “Illiterate? We can help! Call…”

Fortunately for the continued existence of our country, there are actually people who care about their jobs and take pride in achievement and working to the best of their ability. But in the end, when you see some incompetent doing very well for themselves despite being fired for shoplifting women’s clothing, as opposed to the employee who develops ulcers worrying about the quality of their performance, one is tempted to ask – who is the more stupid?