"I Beezle" or "The future is a delicate thing, Sir. Do try not to break it."

If you haven't yet read the previous post, I recommend that you peruse it. It contains facts and terminologies that I are slightly relevant to this post. I've moved the most important fact to this one though. Actually now that it's done and I'm really thinking hard about it, if you get this one fact you may not really need the rest, but maybe you'll understand a few more of the inner workings of the story? I certainly hope so after taking the time to type all that out. There is a story about a fire breathing opossum in the previous post if that's enticing to you at all...

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I learned a new verb recently through the power of Google. I performed a search on Beezle, trying to decide how seriously people have been taking his newly formed e-cult, and this is what I found:
(http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Beezle). Of course, I took immediate interest. It's important to me to know if the things that Beezle sees on the internet can impact me negatively. As of the time of this posting, the most upvoted definition of 'beezle' on Urban Dictionary is as follows:

Beezle:

This term is used to describe any activity done for its own sake/pleasure. People seeing someone/something beezle will likely not understand why that person/creature/thing is doing whatever he/she/it is doing. Examples include: frolicking, climbing trees, most things done while stoned/drunk. Baby animals (and for some reason, squirrels, dolphins and whales) naturally beezle all the time. It's generally considered complimentary, but just a little confusing...

I had several reactions to this. First I had a good laugh at the image of Beezle romping playfully with aquatic and woodland creatures. Then I realized with shock that the term is accurate. If anyone beezles, Beezle does. What do you suppose he accomplishes by hypnotizing me at night and making me sleep dance? Or by pretending to be "The Mummy" and swallowing me with swimming pool water when I make use of the high dive? (I don't think I've ever mentioned it yet, but I that's actually how the Mansion House Wars started. I nearly drowned. Maybe I'll remember to tell you the story one day.)

Finally, I realized that if anyone else besides Beezle beezles, it would probably be me. I'm easily entertained, and I was actually glad to have a word to put to the group of actions that entertain me. Any word is better than "dinking around." However, to be honest I was a little terrified to learn that I do yet another thing that Beezle does. I don't like feeling similar to Beezle, but as time rolls onward my list of like traits keeps growing. I'm writing them off as meaningless - I'm not damning souls after all, but I've got to watch myself. Having more common ground makes it harder to keep my guard up.

That's not the point of this post though. The point is that I beezle, and that I need to be careful when I do it because there can be consequences. Here is an excellent example:

I rent an apartment in Provo out of necessity. I work and go to school at BYU and there are rare occasions when I can't quite seem to abstract* back to the mansion house. If those moments happen to come at night, I don't much like competing with Riverman Johnson for park bench space (or bridge space when the weather is foul.) I mentioned at one point that he told me he was going to acquire a sword and Chinese stars with which to defend his multiple forms of literature, didn't I? I can attest that he has acquired these, and that he is more than willing to defend his territory. His weapons are of poor quality and very dull, but they still hurt quite a bit when he manages to land a hit.

*(I've covered abstract travel recently, but here's the gist: to get to the mansion house I have to be both distracted and in motion. It's really not that hard, it just doesn't always work as advertised. I don't do magic, remember? It just happens to me when I'm not paying attention.)

I also like warm water. If there is time and hot water enough, I like to take long showers or baths. Even when I don't mean to take a long time, I loose track of time in the shower. It's because I relax and let my mind wander. Since I first came to the mansion house, I've spent inordinate amounts of time in the natural hot-spring cave that the mansion is built around. When I'm stuck in Provo, I can do almost as well at the outdoor hot tub behind the complex's clubhouse. The hot tub in question is large by apartment standards, and can accommodate perhaps twenty people if all of those people don't mind literally rubbing shoulders. When it's empty it feels spacious.

A few weeks ago on a thursday I was stuck at my digs in Provo. Feeling active I decided to have a short swim and to then enjoy the hot tub. When I got out of the pool the tub was empty and I was happy about that. I try not to beezle in public - it feels awkward. I eased into the tub and let the jets work on my back. As always my swimming trunks filled with air and I became more buoyant finding it harder to stay anchored to my seat (I am a very light person.) On this occasion however, I had a beezeling epiphany of sorts. I wondered If I could float on my back and drift about the tub in whatever direction the currents took me.

No sooner did I start my experiment then two very muscular guys and their girlfriends splashed into the pool. (I didn't actually see them because I was staring up at the stunningly clear big dipper. I just heard them through the water.) I sat up quickly to move out the way and to appear less silly. The thing is that sitting up while floating makes a person sink. I sputtered back up to the surface and took my original seat. The other four had the common decency to keep their chortling to a minimum, and for that I was grateful. I wondered how long they would be there and I busied myself by playing subtly with the flat leaf-like elm seeds that had fallen into the water. They floated nicely like little boats and I sent them off on excursions in the eddies.

When I was bored of sea seed missions I had another swim until the group left. I then I hustled back to the hot tub. I laid out on the water, puffing my chest out and tucking in my legs so that they didn't touch the bottom. The currents did the rest. I only bumped into an edge once and I was kept in a continual counter clockwise rotation with my head at the center. It was enjoyable and relaxing. The whole time I watched the crisp stars above me rotating. More than ever, the big dipper appeared to me as the turning hour hand of a giant clock. (It really is one. See the companion guide to this post). I must have made at least three full rotations before I realized that I had abstracted to the mansion house hot tub. (Not the hot springs cave. It doesn't grant an open view of the stars. There is an actual man-made hot tub outside, close to the pool and conservatory.)

Pleasently surprised and done with sailing about on my back, I toweled off and went into the kitchen through the servants door. I grabbed a roll from the constant supply Wadsworth keeps there, and pulled on the light fixture that opens the hidden door to the hidden passages behind the walls. (I like using the secret corridors every so often despite the fact that the standard hallways are much more comfortable. It's a beezle thing.) I walked happily toward the Master's Chamber until I heard Wadsworth's pleasant voice saying, "Will take your supper here or in the dining room sir?" I stopped dead in my tracks. I was at that point, just above my study. The secret passages are designed for eavesdropping (hence the clarity of Wadsworth's voice) and I unstopped a peephole in the floor. There was Wadsworth, and there was me. I was saying "No, the dining room will be fine. I'm nearly done reading this entry in Uncle Nick's journal and then I'll be in. What's for dinner?"

"A salmon steak with steamed vegetables, sir. What would you like to drink? I suggest that something citrus would complement the fish very well."

"What about that lemon orange concoction you put together? I like that."

"An excellent choice sir. May I help you in any other way, sir?" As he made this last remark Wadsworth's eye roved up to my peephole, and I had the distinct impression that he was talking to me, besides talking to me. Nothing gets by the man. He's as much ninja-sleuth as he is butler. I stoppered the hole and tried to comprehend what I had just experienced. Seeing myself wasn't totally new. I'd seen transparent and barely detectable versions of myself in many places in the mansion, doing different things without acknowledging me. I'd also seen gruesome figures in my image march happily to a joyful death in Beezle's fireplace. (These later were a demonstration to show me how easy it would for me at payment time, if I ever felt I wanted to buy something with my soul.) I had, however, never seen Wadsworth offer dinner to one of my  dopplegangers, and I was heavily disturbed that he should do so now. And hungry. It didn't help that I remembered having a similar meal three days earlier. It was phenomenal - the fish was moist and flaky with subtle interplays of spices and herbs.

As I thought longingly of the meal and made way for the kitchen to intercept Wadsworth I had a sudden more revealing insight. In the many years that I have eaten at the Mansion House, Wadsworth has never repeated a meal exactly except by special request, and he has certainly never cooked the same kind of fish twice in the same month. He would probably faint at the thought of it. I'd been reading my uncle's journal three days ago too. I had traveled time! I yanked the door open and launched into the kitchen.

"Good evening, Sir." said Wadsworth. To someone who didn't know him, he would have looked and sounded like nothing but pleased to see me. I've known him for long enough that I could tell he was annoyed as he continued, "Will you also be having salmon this evening? I regret that it will be a duplicate of something that you have presumably already consumed. With more notice I could have easily compensated."

"The salmon was excellent three days ag-- er.. today, I think it will be just as good.. um.. today. So, I'll just have what he's - er... what I'm having."

"Very good sir."

"I'm sorry about the short notice. Is there enough? I didn't exactly realize that there would be two of me today until just now."

"I am always prepared for unexpected guests, sir. There is always enough. May I offer a word of advice about your current adventure, sir?"

"Yes, please. That's why I came down."

"It is not well known what happens when one's past self comes into contact with one's future self. Theories range from nothing to a universal Armageddon. The current middle ground of the debate is that the person fades from existence. While scientists and pranksters alike might appreciate one's rushing in headlong to see the look on one's face, I suggest that the action would be inadvisable at best, Sir."

"Right. Well. I guess I'd better stay out of sight then."

"In that case, sir, I suggest that you make yourself scarce. I think I hear you coming."

"Oh. Distract me." I said, and I dived back into the passage way. I went up a floor and unstopped a peephole for the kitchen. I really didn't need to. I remembered the upcoming conversation, now that I had a clear picture of the day. As I'd placed a bookmark in my uncle's journal, Beezle had announced that, "THERE IS SOMETHING VERY INTERESTING TO SEE IN THE KITCHEN. I THINK YOU'D BEST HURRY OUT AND SEE WHAT IT IS BEFORE IT'S GONE."

Normally, I wouldn't pay much attention to something like that coming from Beezle, but the kitchen is next to the dining room and I happened to know that Wadsworth was there, so I didn't even feel the need for too much caution, just a bit of caution. I watched through the hole as I entered the room and said, "Looks like the kitchen, Beezle. An interesting kitchen, to be sure, but nothing I haven't seen."

"LOOK IN THE HIDDEN DOOR. IT WILL BE FUN."

"Have you seen this interesting thing, Wadsworth."

"As far as I can tell, sir, there is nothing out of the ordinary behind the afore mentioned door."

I can't help but marvel sometimes at Wadsworth's ability to misdirect without telling lies. I've only witnessed it on a handful of occasions, but I still marvel. On this occasion I wondered if he meant that I shouldn't be behind that door anymore, or that it wasn't out of the ordinary for me to be behind it. Knowing Wadsworth he probably meant both.

I watched myself open the door, see nothing, and say, "Nothing to report here."

"GO LOOK AROUND. IT'S IN THERE."

"If you will pardon me sir. Your salmon is approaching its optimal temperature for consumption. You may either have a meal that boarders on perfection or go chasing 'interesting things' through the passage ways; possibly with apocalyptic consequences, given Beezle's definition of the word 'interesting.'"

"I choose dinner," I said happily and I strode into the dining room with Wadsworth close on my heals.

I, the me upstairs, went back to the kitchen and waited for Wadsworth.

"HOW DOES HE DO THAT?" Beezle asked. He sounded genuinely interested. I could also hear him pleading me urgently to come back into the kitchen from the other room. I knew I was safe. I remembered being annoyed and shutting the dining room vents three days earlier so that I could eat in peace.

"Do what?," I responded, "Look so good? It's because he's me."

"HOW DOES HE LIE SO WELL?"

"He didn't lie. He told the truth."

"I'M AWARE. MAYBE I SHOULD TRY THAT SOMETIME."

"Wouldn't that be nice. The problem is that you'd start by telling me to come look at something that might make me fade into oblivion, and I would believe you."

"LIFE IS UNFAIR. I'M GOING TO GO ENLARGE SOME INSECTS. CARE TO JOIN ME."

"No thanks. Knowing you they'd probably try to eat me."

Beezle sighed loudly and added, "TELLING THE TRUTH GETS ME NOTHING. YOU WIN. YOU SHOULD REWARD YOURSELF BY TAKING DESERT INTO THE DINING ROOM EARLY";

Wadsworth came back and put together a to go box for me in preparation for driving me back to Provo. (Even distracted, Wadsworth is a competent and safe driver.) Before we left I had a final epiphany.

"Wadsworth, I failed a cleaning check tomorrow because I couldn't get a stain off of a wall. Do you have anything that might work?"

Wadsworth handed me a spray bottle of something green that smelled like minty lemons and said, "Try this Sir. And do be careful, Sir. The future is a delicate thing. Do try not to break it."

That was that. I left the bottle in a conspicuous place with the label, Care of Wadsworth, and avoided myself for three days. I passed my cleaning checks without breaking the future (finding myself 20 dollars richer in the process) and made sure to position myself for watching Jones crash into the conservatory. I figured if someone was going to demolish the side of a glass building I owned and I wasn't able to stop it, I'd at least better watch.

-Jason

Riverman Johnson

It is with great sadness that I announce that the epic struggles between Beezle and I, now commonly referred to as The Mansion House Wars, have not ended. They are getting worse, and I’m not coping as well as I would like to. The new semester is starting too, with all of the stresses of a new school year; but I am also finding that there is a measure of relief that comes with it. You see, I spend many more hours at the university than I do in my study. I like my study, but I’d like it more without Beezle’s constant interruptions.

I usually take the bus to school; I have many reasons for doing so.  First and foremost is parking. There is no special parking for owners of Mansions believe it or not, and generally speaking, those without assigned or privileged parking can expect to take longer to find a spot than they spend in class.  The second reason that I bus is that I save money. Last month I saved enough to pay Stan for his work on the grounds, and to eat out a few times. Finally, I like to ride the bus because of the environment. I can read on the bus. I can doze on the bus. I can watch quirky people, and eves drop on their phone conversations. (Please don’t think ill of me, but listening to people talk on the phone in public is a great way to stimulate the old grey matter for the invention of characters, plots, and settings. Knowing this, I stick to texting.)

On my way home yesterday, I wound my way to the back of the bus, stepped over the top of a beaten looking pack, and sat down. The seat next to me was vacant, so I dropped a sheaf of papers on it between me and a ragged looking man, presumably the owner of the pack. “Hey,” he said, looking out the window.

“Hello,” I responded cheerfully. He looked like the type of man who talks non-stop on a bus, and I was in a mood to listen, so I waited for him to continue. He didn’t. He only stared out the window. I shrugged and pulled out a book to read.

Without warning he leaned in close, overpowering me with his potent body odor, grinned, and said, “Hi, I’m Johnson!”

“Um… Hello,” I choked out. He leaned back again, and I caught my breath as tactfully as possible.

“I’m going north,” said Johnson. “I was going to go south, until I changed my mind.”

“Ah,” I said, “And what are you going to do when you get where you’re going?”

“I’m going to get some beer.”

“Oh?” I asked. I don’t drink, but I’m fairly certain  that there is beer to be found at every gas station in any direction so I probed a little further, “And what will you do then?”

“I’m going to drink some beer.” Johnson nodded profoundly.

I mirrored him seriously and said, “I see.”

“Then,” Johnson added, “I’m going to buy a two hundred dollar bike for thirty dollars.”

“That sounds like a great plan,” I said, “This is a nice time of year to spend some time on a bike.”

“Yep. And it’s good, because my last bike got stolen.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah! And would you believe they stole my bible too?”

“Oh, that’s terrible. I think I could get you another, if you need one.”

“Nah, I got another one, but it makes me mad.  They stole my dumbbells, and my bike, and my Bible and my nudie magazines! I just got some new ones today.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” I said (I was thinking mostly about the new purchase when I said it), “but I’m glad that you got another Bible. Where are you living?”

“Down on the river. I don’t like the homeless shelters here. I said some pretty rude things to them because they deserved it and they put me on suspension. I haven’t had a shower for three months! Can you believe that?”

 I nodded emphatically with overwhelming belief. “Yes, that’s really too bad. So, where on the river are you living?”

Johnson’s leaned in, bringing his three month old ambiance with him, and scowled, “I don’t tell people that.”

I put my hands in the air nervously and said, “I don’t blame you, after all that you’ve had to deal with.”

He leaned back again and said, “Yup. But the next time they come I’ll be ready for them. I went to the pawn shop and bought a sword and some Chinese Stars. They weren’t very sharp, but I’ve got them so sharp now that I can chop your head off, well maybe not all the way off, but most of the way. I’m gonna get a pellet gun too.”

The bus stopped, and Johnson stood up. As he walked forward he kept talking, and the further he went the louder he raised his voice so that I could still hear him, “Believe me, you don’t want a pellet in your ass! My cousin shot my ass with a pellet gun once and the pellet got stuck in there, I had to go to the -”

The doors closed, and I chucked, before offering a silent prayer that Riverman Johnson be safe from harm and theft. As an afterthought I prayed for the people that got too close to his possessions. I got off at the next stop walked leisurely to the Mansion and Promptly threw my stack of papers down on my desk. I withdrew to the smoking lounge and put my feet up for a few minutes. (I don't smoke, but honestly,  a non-smoked-in smoking room is a really cool room. Mine is furnished with overstuffed beige couches, chairs, a fireplace, a bar that I keep stalked with smoothy ingrediants, and several stuffed and mounted heads that once belonged to big-game animals that I never hunted. Sometimes I even put on a smoking jacket because those are also pretty fantastic.)  

I would have enjoyed the casual, restive silence but death metal was blasting through the vents. Honestly, I don’t think that Beezle likes it either. He just likes that I don’t like it. Before the Mansion House Wars he seemed to lean more towards classic rock and show tunes. (One time I was pleasantly surprised to walk in on him singing “Portobello Road” from Bed Knobs and Broomsticks. The pleasant ended when he started substituting torture instruments, pickled organs, and other gruesome items for the usual wares of the famed street market. I have to hand it to him though; he’s got a pretty spectacular voice.)

After a short break I shuffled back into my study, put in some earphones and started on my homework. I finished it, and tossed my folder of school papers to the side so that I could do my writing (This is “finish a book” month for Nathan, Derek, and I.) Instead, I was startled to discover the image of a busty and scantily clad woman gazing lewdly at me from my desk. She lounged seductively over a magazine stamped with the emblem of the Playboy Bunny. There was something else under it. I gingerly shifted the Playboy and found a Hustler. With a groan I realized that they must have been under my papers on the bus. I had unwittingly stolen Riverman Johnson’s replacement “nudie” magazines. I gingerly hefted them. I wasn’t sure what to do with them, but there was no way that they were staying on my desk.

I reached for my trashcan but then I remembered that as far as garbage is concerned, all roads lead to my dumpster – the magical home of a developing teenager. Not a good plan.  My cheeks were growing hot and my heart rate was rapidly climbing. I didn’t want to leave these out, and I didn’t want to conceal them anywhere, for fear that someone might find them and get the wrong idea.

Then I thought about Riverman Johnson, and remembered my prayer for those that touched his possessions. When I offered it I had no idea that it might touch this close to home. I prayed it again with twice the fervency. What if he suspected me? He might confront me loudly on the bus. I could already hear it, “YOU STOLE MY NUDIE MAGAZINES!” I flushed harder and tried to think. "Maybe," I thought, "I can avoid a scene if I just put them in my bag and hand them back discreetly tomorrow." Then I realized that such an action would necessitate bringing pornography to and from a campus where it is strictly prohibited upon pain of expulsion until Riverman Johonson decided to go North instead of South again. 

"Maybe, I thought, "It would just be better to find a safe place to burn these and then hand him a ten dollar bill discreetly." Was there such a thing as discreet with Riverman Johnson? Would he make less of a deal about it if he got the original merchandise? I swiveled in my chair and hovered the magazines over my backpack, trying to make a decision.

 “Pardon me, Sir, but -“

“I jumped and shouted, throwing the magazines across the room. One of them landed, open to the centerfold I might add, at the highly polished feet of Wadsworth. He glanced down, then quickly up at me. His eyes riddled me with accusation, but his tone remained polite and respectful as ever as he said, “Please excuse the interruption, Sir. I did not wish to infringe on your… personal time. My intentions were to announce my return, but I have just remembered an important item of business that I have neglected. Perhaps it is for the best; my absence will give you time to conclude your indulgences.”

“No, Wadsworth, I’m not –“

William appeared next to Wadsworth holding a McDonalds soft-drink and said, “Hey, I heard a scream, is everything – is that a Playboy?” Without looking, and with great speed, Wadsworth flipped the offensive material shut (cover side down) with the toe of his shoe.

I was finding it difficult to breath. I leaned back in my chair, covered my face with my hands and groaned, “It’s not what you think!”

“Well,” drawled Will, “I think it’s a Playboy Magazine. Am I wrong? Is it Penthouse? Hustler?” He sucked at the straw of his drink, getting mostly air.

                “I HAVE RECENTLY LEARNED OF A WONDERFULL GAME CALLED TWENTY QUESTIONS. MAY WE PLAY IT?”

                I feebly wondered how I’d missed the moment when the blaring music had shut off, and Beezle had tuned in.

                “Look,” I said, issuing a silent command for my cheeks to lose their blush, “These aren’t mine! I accidently stole them from a homeless man -”

                “IS IT JUST ME, OR DOES THAT SEEM BOTH IMPLAUSIBLE AND CRUEL?”

“- and I was trying to figure out how to get rid of them before something like this happened.”

                “Why didn’t you just throw them away?” asked Will, and he took another air filled pull at his straw. I narrowed my eyes at him, but Wadsworth did better. He shot his hand out to pinch the air, on the way he clipped Will’s head with force.

                “Owe!” said Will, putting his hand to his head, “What was that for?”

                “I apologize, young Master William. I spied a small insect, and thought to escort it from the building.”

                Sure enough, there was a fly squirming in Wadsworth’s fingers. Will’s expression said that he didn’t know whether to be annoyed or in awe. I settled on both satisfaction and awe and said, “Take Will with you. When you’re done, come back and help me get rid of these things.”

                “Very good, Sir,” said Wadsworth, but Will protested, “Hey! Who’s gonna watch him. We’re just going to leave him in here by himself with those?

                “THAT’S A VALID POINT. STUFF THE FILTH DOWN THE VENTS IN THE FLOOR, JUST TO BE CERTAIN.”

                Wadsworth scooped the magazines up and held them under his arm saying, “If you don’t mind, Sir, I shall remove you from suspicion.”

                “Please,” I said, waving him away, “get them out of my study.”

                He marched out with Will and I flopped back in my chair.

                “WHO KEEPS TABS ON THE BUTLER?”

                “Some people don’t need to be watched, Beezle.”

                “NOT ACCORDING TO JUVENAL, OR ALAN MOORE FOR THAT MATTER.”

                I glared at the vent and changed the topic, "How did you mange to pull this one off anyhow?"

                “SURELY YOU DON'T SUSPECT TO PASS THE BLAME FOR THEFT FROM THE HOMELESS TO ME? PERHAPS YOU SHOULD TAKE A LITTLE BIT OF RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR ACTIONS. YOU MIGHT START WITH ADMITTING TO THE CHARACTER FLAWS AND JEALOUSIES THAT LED TO THE REVOCATION OF MY INTERNET PRIVILEGES.”

                “Jealousies?”I roared, "What could I possibly be jealous of? Devious nature? Unabashed destruction of lives? Living damnation?"

                “YES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THOUGH I'M SURPRISED THAT YOU FORGOT TO MENTION RAW POWER, DEVILISH CHARM, AND IMPOSSIBLY GOOD LOOKS"

                I stood, prepared to ream Beezle throughly, but at that moment Wadsworth returned, and said, "Arguing only tends to encourage him, Sir, I would advise against it." I wanted to ignore him, but I knew he was right, so I riped the cover off the vent and stuffed a jacket inside. I slumped back down in my chair and sighed before explaining the complexity of the situation to Wasdsworth. He listened carefully before saying, “Perhaps it would be best if I return these directly to Mr. Johnson, sparing your Lordship both an embarrassing encounter and the burden of storing these… distasteful publications.”

“How? He wouldn’t tell me where he lived.”

“I have seen his place of residence in my morning walks along the river.”

“If you could do that, it would be fantastic, Wadsworth.”

“Then I shall deliver them shortly.”

“I can come with you.”

“Alas, Sir, I regret that you may not accompany me. It would be dishonest for me to reveal the location of Mr. Johnson’s residence after he has purposfully withheld that knowledge from you.”

“Right. Well then. Cary on Wadsworth, and be careful please. He has a sword that he claims is sharp enough to decapitate you half-way.”

“I shall be cautious, Sir. Will that be all?”

“Before you go, I’d like you to tell me one thing. How did you get a fly to line up so well with Will’s head?”

“I regret to inform you sir, that the fly was a deception.” Wadsworth retrieved something small from his pocket and placed it in my hand. It was a rubber fly.

“But it was wriggling and buzzing between your fingers.”

“The ‘ACME Ninja Fly’ comes equipped with an electronic device that activates when the wings are pressed together.”

I picked the fly up by the wings, holding them firmly together. It sprung to life, buzzing angrily and fighting to get away.

I smiled and said, “This is great! Where did you get it?

“It was a gift from my niece.“

And so it was, that between light conversation and the ensuing light refreshments that Wadsworth again saved my bacon. If I had any money to spare I’d offer him a raise.