For most of my life I’ve wondered why everyone else was so much more successful than me. OK, they were probably cleverer and more sociable, and certainly better looking, but even people who were even more average than me seemed to climb the corporate ladder with astonishing ease.
It wasn’t for lack of hard work. Employers, colleagues, even friends, would comment on how industrious and reliable I was. I was so dependable in my current position that it would be a shame to move on to more important tasks, as they had done. They certainly didn’t want to lose me.
Still, as I watched one marketing expert after another come in, ruin a company that I’d worked hard for, get a golden goodbye and move to an even bigger company on an even bigger salary, I couldn’t help getting this nagging feeling that I was doing something fundamentally wrong. And, despite their knowing, sympathetic looks, no one could quite bring themselves to tell me what it was.
Then, suddenly, this morning, the penny finally dropped. As I watched Boris Johnson grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat, it became so clear: I should have lied. Not just the occasional little white fib, but great big clanging whoppers. I kept worrying about being found out, about someone checking the facts, about being shamed into eternal silence.
That’s all wrong. If you get found out, just repeat the lie. Make it bigger. Ignore the facts, or better still, deny them. Accuse your accuser of dubious motives. Make up more lies about them. People don’t care, just keep telling them what they want to hear.
It works every time. Just look around you. Politicians, clergy, second hand car sellers – all the best ones lie all the time. If you start young and get really good at it you could be Pope, or PM, or President of the United States, maybe all three. There need be no limit to your ambition.
To my poor, old, long deceased parents I can only say this. Why did you cripple my chances in life by telling me not to tell lies?
Platitude of the Day 