The Truthful Fibber
There once lived a man called Simon Straight-talker. Straight-talker wasnt his surname, of course, that was actually Burton. Simon was honestrather painfully so. He always tried to tell people the truth, straight to their faces. Because of this, Simon perpetually had a lopsided fringe, despite always going to one of the poshest barbers in London; his car wheels were never balanced properly and the mechanic would inevitably leave oil stains in his engine; at any café, Simons plate was always smaller than everyone elses, andoddly enoughhis children seemed to bear a remarkable likeness to his next-door neighbour.
Simons opposite number was Phil Fibbersurname immaterial, really. Phil always looked the part: snappy haircut, always clean-shaven, not a blemish in sight, and youd never catch him with circles under his eyes. In the local café, Phil was served like Michelins own food critic; his kids were the absolute spitting image of their father. Even his goldfish and his cat looked like Phil. As for balancing his car wheelswhy bother? He just caught a lift with Simon Straight-talker on his way to work.
Phil, I started, out of the blue one morning while giving him a ride to the city, how come everything in your life just works out? Whats your secret, mate? For me, its rubbishnever-ending rows with the boss at work, constant spats with the wife at home She doesnt appreciate hearing the truth about how shes let herself go, doesnt look after herself anymore, getting a bit podgy. Kids dont listen to a word I say. Everywhere I go, someones trying to make things worse for me. Im honestly worn out, you know?
Phil waited patiently till Id finished my rant, then decided to come clean.
I just lie, he replied. Thats all there is to it.
Lie? You mean, youre a con-artist? I couldnt. Im about honesty. Lyings as bad as stealing.
You know, theres more than one way to lie, Phil replied coolly.
Still a lie, whatever you call it, I muttered as we pulled up outside his office.
Just try being a kind liar.
Hows that supposed to work? I frowned, sure he was pulling my leg.
Ill show you, said Phil. Take tomorrow offjust a days holidayand Ill give you a crash course.
I chewed my lip; the thought didnt sit right, but eventually I nodded. Fine. These days everyones a fibber. Whats one more?
The next morning we met up in our usual spot.
So, where do we begin? I asked, sceptically.
Barbers, Phil said. I always go for the cheapest onessaves my pennies.
Yeah, and they make you look like a stray dog, I scoffed.
Well see.
We walked into the first barbers we saw. The faded signTrendy Stylesshould have been a warning, but Phil looked positively chipper.
Good morning, said Phil to the lady on reception.
All right, she replied, barely looking up.
Just checkingthis is Trendy Styles salon, isnt it?
Yeah.
I smirked to myself: some salon, this was.
Ive seen your reviews online, Phil said slowly, stressing his words thoughtfully.
So? drawled the woman, expecting a joke.
They rave about you! Every review sings your praises!
Really? she lifted her eyebrow.
Honestly, they say you have the very best hairdressers in the citytrue professionals! Top-level service, too. Nothing less than central London quality. And Im fussy. My works all high-stakes meetings and serious contractsI trust what clients say, not adverts!
The woman bloomed from drab to radiant right before my eyes. She was marinating in Phils words.
And where did you see these reviews? she asked, careful not to scare him off.
Couldnt say, exactlysome new online London guide. Youre at the top.
You dont say!
Cross my heart!
I almost choked trying to hide my grin. Phil was lying through his teeth without a hint of shame.
How would you like it cut? said a sweaty woman chewing gum in a stained apron.
Out you go, MollyIll do this one myself, barked the boss.
I was stunned. Phil was ushered into their solitary armchair, which was polished for the occasion, and was handed a hasty cuppa. The boss went all out, working some real magic on his barnet.
So, what do you think? she asked, just on the edge of worry.
Phil ran his hand through his hair critically, looking in the mirror. To be fair, it was a smashing cutbest Id seen him with.
Id say the reviews dont lieyou really are a master of your craft! Ill be back for certain.
The price was laughable. Five times less than what Id handed over at my swanky barbers. And yet the difference astronomical.
Where to next?
I fancy a bite.
We went searching for somewhere to eat, and ended up in a tiny family-run café. Inside was cramped, and a rag-tag band played on a little stage. We were squeezed into a dim corner.
Awful place. Shabby, weird music, dodgy décor, useless menu, I muttered.
Brilliant! Just right, grinned Phil.
The waitress arrived.
What a wonderful place you have! Phil began, syrupy smooth, and I stifled a laugh behind my hand. So cosy, unique menu, and those musiciansabsolutely delightful!
The older waitress just beamed.
Thank you! We did the décor ourselves, and my nephews band is on stageyou know, giving the kids a break is nice for everyone.
Genius! said Phil. Id buy their record, if they had onewouldnt you? He nudged me, and I nodded. We cant decide what to getcould you bring us the dish of the day?
She collected the menus, gave an elegant little bow, and disappeared.
In record time, she returned with two massive plates loaded with some sort of meat in a berry sauce.
I didnt see that on the menu, I remarked.
Compliments of the chefthe singers dad, she winked.
Honestly, Id never eaten better. I was quietly stunned at Phils success.
This fellow would fib to anyone. Tell old folks they looked young, youngsters that they had the wisdom of their years, lazy layabouts they were the backbone of modern society. And everyone fell over themselves to do Phil a favour in return. Even at the car park, Phil told a girl she was an ace driver just as she blocked the entrance dicing with a tricky parking space. I was about to point out she must have bought her licence, but Phil stopped me. In the end, she pulled off a perfect park and gave us the last spot going.
Id never have believed that a few lies could actually help so much and cause no harm,” I said, dropping Phil off at home.
You see, really we just told people what they wish they could hear. And lo and beholdthey became the truth. Maybe next time you want to whinge about how rubbish your life is, try fibbing a little. Before you know it, your fibs might become your reality.
That day, I realised that a little kindnessdressed up as a harmless white liecan make the world a warmer place. It turns out not all truths need to be uttered, and sometimes, just maybe, the right words can shape a happier life.
