I was talking to someone interesting the other day. And out of nowhere loomed the memory of The Morrisby Test. No, it's not the title of some shit spy thriller; it's what polysyllablophones (zing!) call a psychometric test.
And I took one, when I was about 14.
I seem to recall it recommended that I pursue a career as a fucking systems analyst — from which we may deduce (if nothing else) that Morrisby, whoever (s)he is, is some kind of bleak sadist. But that's not the point. The point is that, at some point, the test results presented a three-slice piechart intended to illustrate one's inclination/interest. It was divided between 'people', 'things' and one other category of which I'm not entirely sure (possibly 'ideas'?).
My biggest slice was people, yeah?
Then ideas, or whatever it was.
Finally? Yup. Things.
Because — right — can we just pause here? Things? Would it not be the most monumentally depressing revelation ever, to open your Morrisby Test results only to be told that you prefer things to people?
I mean — things? The clue, surely, is in the fact that they're called things.