22: The Conceptual Artist

Today the conceptual artist will do my job. All day I alphabetize files in an enormous room. The conceptual artist wants to appear authentic. He wears a sport coat. He stands beside me, filing. He’s accurate, but I’m faster. Finally I look at him. “You’re making fun of me,” I say. He doesn’t answer. “Stop it!” Still no answer. “I’m yelling at you,” I remind him. But the conceptual artist keeps filing as if on a high wire and one false step would send him plummeting. “Then I’m a conceptual artist,” I say and return to filing, relieved to have outwitted him.