Men and the complexities of the proverbial one to ten scale....

by Kevin Collins

"So what number do you think I am?” asked Turner.

“Well, it wouldn’t be for me to say”

“No, I want to know”

“I’m a man so any number I come up with would be purely arbitrary and subject to ridicule to the nth degree,” said Miles, sounding like something he would write in one of his columns, which was just fine with him.

Miles laughed and motioned for the waitress to come by.

“No, no, no, none of that crap you put in the newspaper. This is me you’re talking to. CJ Turner”

“Coleman Jarrett Turner, I do believe”

“I can see why you go by CJ,” the waitress smiled and said.

“This is not helping your chances for a big tip,” Turner said.
She realized she probably shouldn’t have said anything.

“It is with me,” Miles came back with. “Would you mind bringing me another glass of wine and another whatever that is for my friend here, Mr. Turner”
She took the empty glasses and left.

“You’re being evasive. Now you’re the one that brought it up so I want to know how you think I rate on a scale of one to ten”
Miles tried not to sound like a therapist and relationship expert of growing media popularity but that’s what he was, so why fight it? Still it was somehow different when it was a friend rather than a client or a TV reporter.

“Maybe you should consider your expectations of what my answer might be before you insist that I answer”

“Maybe you should answer the question” The waitress arrived with the glasses. “Permission to treat this man as a hostile witness?” he asked the waitress.

“He’s the only shot I have at a good tip, so….denied” She smiled and walked away.

“My point was simply this. If I give you a high score, will that please your ego or make you wonder why you are seemingly so attractive to the same sex?”

Turner raised his glass as if to say, “Touche”.

“Likewise, if I give you a low score, will you feel wronged or simply find some rationalization such as me being controlled by my jealousy over your devilish good looks”

“Touche’ again”

“Two touches in close proximity should be enough to retire any subject” Miles raised his glass

“Apt reasoning. Unfortunately, you still have not answered the question”

“Seemingly,” said Miles, enjoying the dance around a question he really didn’t want to answer.

“Need I remind you that I am an attorney?”

“By all means”

“Well, I am, you know…..an attorney”

“Excellent. If I ever need one, I will look you up”

They each were sidetracked momentarily by the sudden influx in women floating about Chadwick’s on a Friday evening.

These were the corporate types streaming out of the nearby offices of the high-rise buildings, wearing their conservative professional suits suitable for anyone wanting to pay ten dollars for a drink.

“As you were saying” said Turner.

“I wasn’t saying, and I believe that was the sum of it”

“Oh, yes. You were about to tell me how I rank on the scale of one to ten”

“Knowing myself well as I do, I can assure you I was about to tell you anything but,” asserted Miles, punctuating it with a smile.

“What if I were one of your patients? Would you answer?”
Turner pulled out his checkbook. “What if I write you out a check right now for two-hundred fifty dollars….”

“Three hundred fifty”

“Three hundred fifty? Why that’s highway robbery”

“Indeed, but if you were one of my patents, you would pay it happily” All the doubt in the universe had gathered together in one place and that place was Turner’s face.

“Okay, if not happily, then willingly”
Turner was still dubious but began to write out a check.

“Would it bother you for me to tell you that in all the clients I have ever had, no male (nor female for that matter) has ever felt compelled to ask me how I rated them on a scale of one to ten?”

“And I have never attended a rodeo and yet they exist”

“Very well,” Miles said, though he was totally distracted by the
woman in the blue business suit and ‘very well’ was what he always said when his mind was occupied and a response of some sort was appropriate.

Actually she was the third woman from the left in a blue business suit. Wasn’t there another color available, he thought. It was always a blue business suit.

“Don’t give me your generic ‘very well’ while you leer at the third woman from the left in a blue business suit” It was more obvious than Miles had thought.

“Did I interrupt your leer?” asked Miles.

“Not at all. I was busy writing out this universally accepted financial instrument which can be converted to cash at over three thousand locations of Citi, Incorporated in exchange for which I expect services worthy of such an amount”

“Right here? In Chadwick’s while we dally with alcohol”

“Why not?” asked Turner.

“Let me ask you this”

Turner started to interrupt, but Miles stopped him.

”I know you are going to say that you are asking the questions. But I commonly ask my patients questions, though I prefer the term ‘client’”

“Certainly”

“And the question is this. If I gave you an eight, would you be content or would you wonder what were the shortcomings I perceived that had prevented you from getting a ten? “

“So you are saying I’m an eight”

“Not at all”

Turner thought a minute and then slid the check over to him and put away his checkbook.

“So you are saying I’m an eight?” he repeated.

“Not at all, but I do have another question. If I gave you a three, would you be happy since I’m a man and if I find you unappealing then the third lady in the blue business suit would most certainly find you to be a three squared since she is my gender opposite? Which by the way would still leave you short of a ten”

“How convenient. And to think that people seek advice from you on their relationships”

“By the droves,” Miles said, toasting what turned out to be himself.

“And what makes you qualified to answer such weighty matters?”

“I haven’t the foggiest, but back to your question”

“I thought you were evading the question”

“I am but I would like to dance around it a bit more”

“Than by all means, go ahead”

“The more important question is….how does Turner rate himself on a scale of one to ten”

This was going to take a while. Turner motioned for the waitress to bring a bottle then said, “Well, it would seem to me that my opinion is totally irrelevant. I couldn’t possibly be objective, though, even that said, I would think that I would rate quite well”

“Do you?” asked Miles. It was a great tool for those in his business to be used when a response was needed but there was really nothing of note to say. “Do you really” also came in handy.

“Oh, certainly. Let’s look at the facts. Successful attorney. Well educated yet easy-going. Handsome….”

“Is ‘handsome’ a statement of fact or opinion?” Miles posed the question.

“Opinion generally, but when so glaringly obvious, fact”
Miles looked up. The waitress had been standing there a while opening the bottle of wine. She tried to suppress a grin.

“What’s wrong,” asked Miles.

“Oh, nothing,” she said unconvincingly, “just trying to protect my eyes from all the glare” She then scurried away as her composure wavered.

“Is there anyway I can tip her less than zero?”

“I really don’t see how,” said Miles, “So then what would be the final number you would give yourself?”

“A nine I would guess”

“Why not a ten?”

“Why not indeed? But I’m going to remain open-minded. Make your case and then I’ll decide if I have underestimated myself”

“Oh, I haven’t a case” Miles poured them both some wine “I was simply asking you why you did not give yourself a ten.”

“Is this some sort of exercise that you use on your whack job patients…..or clients? Will I be seeing this on the ‘soft news’ report tonight?”

“You wanted me to rate you. The best chance I have is for you to rate yourself first”

“Nine and ten are very close together. Percentage wise they are the closest on the one to ten scale. So perhaps I am a ten”

“A ten it is then?” asked Miles.

“According to the looks I’m getting from the third lady in the business suit, I would have to say ‘yes’”

“Very well. Then based on that I believe I can now rate you as you requested”
Miles pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket and wrote a number on it.

“A nine”

“No”

“A six? You must be joking”

“Not at all”

“I think you were right. You number is purely arbitrary and worthy of ridicule”

“Actually it’s based on statistical fact. You see, the average person rates himself or herself three to four numerals higher than they actually are. So since you rate yourself a ten, you must really be a six”

“Absurd. Are you going to tell that to Oprah?”

“I’ve never been on Oprah, but yes I would tell her that because it has been shown to be true”

“So you’re saying that if I think I’m a ten, I’m really a six”

“For an average man, yes”

“Aha, but I am not ‘an average man’. I am a ten. A strong nine, at least, that could easily be raised to a ten, with little effort”
Miles saw it coming. It was the classic client rationalization: I am the exception. The commonly held wisdom does not apply to me. I am an enigma. I am the walrus. I can fly.

The waitress, whose name Miles noticed was Jenna, appeared from nowhere. She whispered to Turner but allowed Miles to listen.

“If you keep talking crazy like that we’re going to have to ‘cut you off’ so to speak”

“Cut me off?”

“You know. Stop serving you alcohol”

“You don’t find me to be a strong nine?”
Jenna was put on the spot.

“Who am I to judge? I’m just a woman” She made a quick exit.