The Weird and the Strange VI: Riff Mortgensen

{Disclaimer: The name Riff Mortgensen was chosen arbitrarily.  I know no person named Riff Mortgensen, and any similarities to anyone named Riff Mortgensen are purely coincidental. This story Riff Mortgensen is a work of creative nonfiction.}

Riff Mortgensen lives a secret life, interwoven with an acknowledgement that he is a common man.  Riff prefers that those around him acknowledge his common man status, in a manner that he hopes belies expectation, but woven within that acknowledgement is a mutual understanding that humble men disavow greatness.

Riff Mortgenden is a modern-day manifestation of the original Walter Mitty.  For those that don’t know the original story The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, it was a 1939 Reader’s Digest short story by James Thurber.  That story was/is an answer to the question how do people deal with the fact that life has not worked out the way they planned?  How do we deal with the fact that all those dreams we had haven’t even come close to reaching fruition? How do we deal with the fact that we’ve turned out a lot more common than we ever dreamed possible?

Like Walter Mitty, Riff Mortgensen lives with the dream that he is a man of greatness even though he knows that he has not accomplished much.  He deals with the frustrations that life has to offer by supplanting them with characterizations of his daily life.  As opposed to most daydreamers, the dreams of Walter Mitty and Riff Mortgensen occur in the present rather than in the past or future.  It is a lie they have told so often that they have come to believe it in many ways.

By scale, Riff Mortgensen is nowhere near Walter Mitty.  Riff does not dream in the grandiose manner the character Walter Mitty did, and that may be one of the keys to being a modern day Walter Mitty.  Riff keeps his dreams reasonable.  I’m sure that before the fictional depiction of Walter Mitty, there were a lot of Walter Mittys running around.  After Thurber set the precedent with the original Walter Mitty story, all of the Walter Mittys that followed adjusted accordingly to avoid being called a Walter Mitty.

I was called a Walter Mitty by my Great Aunt when I was very young.  I had no idea what it meant back then, but the general idea of what she was saying was obvious through context.  As a result, I adjusted my wild ideas accordingly, so that my grandiose delusions would not be rejected by a lack of credulity.

We all deal with our frustrations in life in different ways.  Some of us are embittered individuals that hate those in better, more prosperous, situations.  We develop scenarios in our mind that help us cope with the fact that others have succeeded where we have not.  We then engage in schadenfreude when those others fail.  Some choose to hate the world in more general terms with the belief that the world is against them, and that circumstance has prevented them from gaining that jewel in life that they’ve always wanted.  Some of us devote ourselves to something else to distract us from our current situation in life, such as religion or conspiracy theories, and we fabricate our current situation, based on these distractions, to leave the lie that we are achieving something in life that isn’t apparent on the surface.  No matter the method we have chosen, we all have a way of dealing with our failures in life, and this defines who we are and what we are going to be.

“I spend my life trying to live up to the lies I tell about myself,” a friend of mine said.  It wasn’t Riff that said this, but it sums up his modus operandi well.

Riff is a quiet man that appears to be a man of action not words.  He appears to be the strong, silent type that is laughing on the inside, at the manner in which the rest of us struggle.  He appears to be the type for whom things come easily, and that’s exactly what he wants you to believe.  He doesn’t want you to know.

The little secret that Riff doesn’t know is that he has potential, and he knows it.  That contradiction was intended for I think it spells Riff Mortgensen out better than any other summed up characterization could.  He knows he has potential to get things done, but what things should he get done?  Better yet, should he try to get any of these things done?  Is it something to get things done, or is it better to know that the potential exists to get things done?  Give Riff Mortgensen parameters, provide him focus within a given main frame, and the man will succeed.  The thing is that he likes the idea of his own potential so much that he’s a little frightened of the reality.  He’s a little frightened of knowing whether or not he will succeed, and this little granule of potential that he’s seen is, often times, enough for him to know.

He speaks about the awe his compatriots hold him in.  People are amazed by his exploits.

“I can’t believe you knew that,” says one character to him.  “You’re the best I ever saw,” says another.  One wonders if Riff has watched too many Tom Cruise movies.  The observer can’t help but think he identified with the characterizations of those Cruise characters so much that he’s begun to see himself as “the best anyone has ever seen.” 

I don’t hear these people say these things first hand, but I have them repeated to me by Riff.  In his mind, there is a daily parade put on by those who feel privileged just to have witnessed his day-to-day.  Some of it could be true, some of it could be exaggerated, and some of it may never have happened at all.

This aspect of his personality was not clear to me at first.  I knew he did it, he drove me nuts with it at times, and there were times when I wanted to pop his delusional bubble, but it was not clear to me how prominent it was to him until we hung out with two co-workers.  These two people interacted with him on a daily basis at our place of employment, and I’m sure that they held him in high regard, but they didn’t know him outside of work to that point.  He’s a smart guy, and he’s good at what he does, but he has the same moments that the rest of the human race does.  He just doesn’t talk about those moments.

The night seemed uneventful to me.  Four people sat around and talked about the people, and the politics, of our shared employer.  David held Riff to the mat that night on some matters that David considered pressing.  These were things that David had to get an opinion on, but Riff would not relent.  I could sense it was an issue to some degree, but I had no idea how much it meant to Riff, until he said:

“I don’t know if I want to hang out with those two anymore.”

“Why?” I asked.  “You two seemed to get along well.”

“David knows how I think on matters.”

It was such a shocking revelation that I didn’t know what to say at first.  I could’ve asked Riff what he meant, but I sensed that the two of us had tripped upon a core tenet of Riff’s inner core.  I sensed that this revelation lay in a sensitive, vulnerable area that required slow digestion.  I backed off and chewed on it for a couple of days.  When I finally entered the core of it, I realized that Riff feared that the bubble of his carefully constructed mystique had been popped.  He feared that his co-workers would now know that he wasn’t as great as he preferred them to believe he was.  I wanted to tell him that this was a very natural fear, and that we all have these fears of being found out.  That would not have been a quality answer for him though.

That night, and that particular exchange, revealed the essence of Riff Mortgensen, but it also revealed the essence of the lying liars that we all know.  It revealed that most of us erect a shroud of secrecy to prevent others from seeing how dumb, incompetent, fragile, and inconsequential we really are.  Riff Mortgensen, like most lying liars with a thief’s mentality, isn’t any of those things, but he fears that he is, and he fears that if he isn’t careful about the way he presents himself, people will find out that he is.

We all live in the fog of potential versus reality, but some of us are able to grasp it better than others.  Some of us try to do something about it, and some of us fall flat on our faces in the attempt.  Putting our self-imposed potential to succeed on the line for the purpose of cashing in on it, can be a scary thing, for potential can be much more fun to dance around in.  There does comes a point in everyone’s life where one must learn the answers to these questions of potential for the purpose of making them a reality.  Riff has never wanted to reach that point.

The other day, Riff informed me that he had an interview for a high level person in our company.  This high level person apparently offered Riff a prestigious position in the company.  I was stunned.  I was excited for him.  “Go for it!” I said.

“It’s already closed,” he responded quickly.

I prodded him further, I encouraged him to seek a position somewhere close to that lofty one, based on this prestigious person’s evaluation.  Riff shot every one of these suggestions down with quick jabs.  I wondered how a person could turn down such a grand opportunity, until it dawned on me that it probably never happened.  I had ensnared myself in one of his delusions again.

The actual interview did happen.  I don’t know what occurred in that interview.  I don’t know if this woman said something glorious about Riff, if she said something damaging to him, or if she dismissed him in a manner Riff found unceremonious, but that interview changed him.  He pivoted after it.  His delusions became much less reasonable after it.  His delusions neared the Walter Mitty level of grandiose.  That interview may have shattered some very elemental delusions Riff had of himself.  He couldn’t report such matters to me, of course, so he decided to make himself a shining star.  She probably said something near the line he gave me, and he embellished it.  I wasn’t prepared for that delusion, and he knew it.

Riff brought this delusion up again, sometime later, in front of another co-worker.  This co-worker asked me about it after Riff left the table.  I was embarrassed for him.  I decided that the next time Riff brought up this delusion, I would tell him not to bring it up in front of others, but that would’ve pulled a ripcord on this delusion.  The two of us probably would’ve shared some kind of knowing smile, and I wouldn’t have been able to sleep that night.

Guilt would’ve been the source of my insomnia on that night, and it would’ve plagued me for the many days that followed.  The reason being that I find that this world can be a cruel, little oyster at times.  At times, people climb all over one another to tell you that you’re not as successful as you think you are.  They pop your delusions and illusions, and they smile when they do it with a degree of satisfaction I find unsettling.  They’re trying to be “real” with you.  A “real” friend looks for a way to be brutally honest with their friend, until they have them crushed down to a little pebble that they can step on.  I have always viewed friendship as something of an escape from this “real” world, where two people can lay out their dreams and fantasies to one another without the fear of being crushed in the aftermath.

That having been said, there have been a number of occasions when I wanted to pull the ripcord on Riff’s delusions.  There have been times when I thought I was enabling him, and that the cure to his problem might be a dose of reality shot straight into his jugular, so that he didn’t go popping off, with such nonsense, in front of our co-workers.  I didn’t want to see my friend float one of these delusions on someone less delicate than me.  I wanted to protect him and prevent him from going through what I knew was coming, but once you pull that chord there’s no turning back.  This has caused me to be silent in the face of his delusions, and this silence has inadvertently given birth to a monster.  Riff now has the notion that he is superior to me, and his definitions of himself have increased twofold.  He now comments on my naïveté, and he comments on the fact that I don’t have a college degree.

This is based on the fact that I qualify many of my statements with the fact that I could be naïve, and in doing so I inadvertently create a characterization of myself as naïve when I repeat the qualifier too often.  So, I understand when Riff does this, but when he then projects upon himself this characterization of one that is the opposite –a worldly, knowledgeable character– it goes beyond the definition of delusional at times.

My natural, competitive instincts may soon arise from these ashes, for I cannot take too much more.  I may be naïve, and I would never argue this idea, but it is only through honest reflection that I admit this.  I try to view myself in an objective manner, and I attempt to gauge how others may view me on a regular basis.  I do not expect everyone to do so, but the exaggeration of the opposite grates on me at times.

The other day Riff informed me that our co-worker David was not intelligent, and as a result the two of them did not have what he considered to be intellectually engaging conversations.  I informed him that this may be due to the fact that David is considerably younger than us.  Riff agreed to an extent, but he stated that he thought it had more to do with the fact that David did not have a college degree.  Riff quickly informed me that this is not the case with me.  He said that even though I do not have a college degree, we have engaging conversations based on my well-rounded intelligence.   I smiled.  I don’t know why I smiled, but when he shared his delusional blanket with me, I found it quite warm and comfortable.  I felt like an absolute fool a day later when I examined these characterizations, but the guilt thing would not permit me to lift the blanket from both of us and reveal us for who we are.  The laughable thing about that comment was that Riff’s greater goal was not to compliment me or insult David, but to lift up his own image of himself through comparative analysis.

I wanted to inform him that all of us progress through different channels of psychological dominance and subservience in different ways, on different days.  The search for where we stand in this chasm between dominance and subservience can be a difficult one to traverse, so we usually attempt to answer these questions on the backs of others.  This is a shortcut to self-examination and self-reflection.  Some feel superior to another, based on that other’s religion, their politics, their race, or in the case of Riff Mortgensen their education level.  There are some that may base their search for definition on whether one brushes their teeth top to bottom or side to side.  There are others that may base their comparative analyses on how a person shaves their pubic hair.  If one person leaves a strip and another person shaves Brazilian who is the superior and who is the subservient, and where does the person that lets theirs grow wild stand?  I met a guy one time who professed a preference for sitting on one cheek.  He would never try to call attention to himself by doing this, but he preferred sitting on one cheek.  He said that he thought it gave him the appearance of being more eager and more involved.  I considered it odd, but I wondered if he felt dominant to our kind, we two-cheek sitters, in anyway.

To illustrate the tenuous balance between the foolish ways we attempt to define our superiority through comparative analysis, I wanted to ask Randall if his psychological profile of me would change if I changed the manner in which I walked down a hallway.  If I moved quickly without moving my arms at all if he would consider me an inferior or a superior.  “Or,” I would say nearing his face, “would you then consider me an equal?”

Riff also developed a delusional fortress that he believed was constantly under attack.  If one was to ask him how many friends he had, he admit that he has very few, but there is a subset of beliefs in Riff that this shortcoming is self-imposed.  He informed me once that I was one of the few that he allowed into his fortress.  I wasn’t aware that there was such demand for entrance, but I played along.  He informed me that it didn’t matter how large their battering ram was, the others weren’t getting in, but I had been granted the privilege of being in his inner circle.  I ascribe to the notion that anyone that chooses to call me friend has granted me just such a privilege, but it is rarely spelled out to me in such stark terms.  The truth is that his fortress was built in the middle of a desert, and it doesn’t matter how strong the fortifications no one will attempt to buttress it until he moves it to a better location.

Riff Mortgensen is an excellent trivia master, until you play a trivia game with him.  He’s a lady’s man, until the ladies come around, and he used to be a ball of greatness until a certain something came up and plucked him from greatness.  The potential of one’s past can be as crippling as the potential one will dream up for their future.  One would think that a Walter Mitty, or a Riff Mortgensen, would reach a breaking point in which they had to do something, but with so many realities swimming around in one’s head it can become difficult to pick just one.

Riff tired of the dominant and subservient games at one point.  He moved.  His desperation to move provided more questions than it answered.  Did he move, as he stated, because he couldn’t stand our city or our state?  He said our fair city didn’t have enough theater, or art, or that special metropolitan lifestyle that so many seek when they move.  It could’ve been all of those things, but I think Riff moved to escape the fact that so many people knew him in our shared city.  They knew his weaknesses, his frailties, and his vulnerabilities.  They knew he wasn’t half the man he purported to be, even though he was.  He was a good guy, a hard worker, and a man that had been recognized for his talent in life, but he feared that other people might know otherwise.

Former Walter Mittys may be better at detecting current Walter Mittys than most, in the manner that a former smoker can smell a smoker a mile away, but I had been shamed out of my Mitty ways long before I met Riff Mortgensen.  I was taught the black and white truths of life that suggested that even a creative stretching of the truth fell into the false category.   For as different as we were, at the point in life where our paths cross, he and I connected on many levels before he left.  One of the primary connections we made occurred in a discussion we had on losing a mother at a very young age.  I was a mess of emotions on the topic.  I informed him how difficult it was losing someone that genuinely cared about what happened to me.  Riff informed me that he didn’t care.  He didn’t care about losing a mother.  He even stated that he didn’t care about his mother.  A conclusion I believe he reached as a form of psychological refraction, based on the fact that he feared she didn’t care.  Most people don’t care.  Even mothers don’t care some of the times.  Riff was forced to endure a long hospital stay at one point in his life, and he had very few visitors.  This may have reinforced this fear that no one cared.  He also began refraining from telling people his birthday.  He stated various reasons for doing so, but I believe it was a defense mechanism he used to stave off the knowledge that no one cared.  These people did.  For whatever reason, these people began hounding him for his birthday.  He must have enjoyed that, because he stuck to his guns.  Either that, or he feared that once he revealed that date, and it passed without anyone remembering to make a big deal of it, it would be further notice that no one cared.  Maybe that’s why he eventually moved.  Maybe that’s why he became a modern day Walter Mitty with all of the illusions and delusions of who he was, to try to get one listener to care that he was here?

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