Weakness in Numbers

By Jim Hagarty
2017

A man stands alone in front of City Hall. He has an IQ of 100. He contemplates the scene peacefully, thoughtfully.

A second man joins him and they discuss their similar views. Each man`s IQ is 95. They begin to grumble.

A third man walks up, joins the first two in the discussion and agrees with them. Each of the three has an IQ of 90 and they raise their voices.

Three more men get out of a car and go up to the first three, happy to find they all share the same viewpoint. The IQ of each man in the group of six is 80. From one of them, a shout is heard.

Before long, a bus pulls up, and 40 men descend the steps, all of them in agreement with the first six. The IQ of each of the 46 is now 70. The single shout is joined by several more.

Four more buses soon pull up behind the first one and from those vehicles, 160 more men join the crowd. They all discuss the situation and before long, the IQ of each man in attendance is 60. A loud chant is raised.

Eight buses soon follow, bringing along 320 men who all agree with the first 206. The IQ of each man in the assembled throng of 526 is now 50, the upper level of an intelligence category assigned to an imbecile, also known as an idiot.

And a riot breaks out.

Led by the man who had, so recently, been standing there alone.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.