Below is the transcript for Season 1, Episode 121 of Freely Written, a podcast by author Susan Quilty:
Welcome to Freely Written where a simple prompt leads to a little unplanned fiction.
[Light piano music]
Hi, friends! I’m Susan Quilty and today’s prompt is Condesplaining.
Today’s prompt is not a real word. Technically, I made it up. But when I googled it, I found others have come up with it as well, usually with the same meaning. Basically, condesplaining is a gender-neutral version of “mansplaining,” because there are women who do it, too.
What is this behavior? You could say it’s talking down to someone, but that doesn’t quite capture it. It’s the specific case of explaining something to someone without regard for their expertise. It’s particularly offensive if their expertise is known.
For example, I’ve had people ask me what kind of books I write, then proceed to explain the absolute basics of novel writing and publishing to me… usually with incorrect information. I think we’ve all had those moments, regardless of gender. Hence the need for a word like condesplaining.
Before I get to the story, here’s a refresh on how my podcast process works: I sit down with a prompt and write whatever comes to mind, with no planning and very little editing. I then record the story and share it with you.
If you have a prompt suggestion, let me know! You can contact me through my website, SusanQuilty.com, and learn more about my novels while you’re there. Links are in the show notes, too.
Now, on to today’s story:
Condesplaining
Dave’s irritation shifted to amazement as people continued to file into the small, clapboard building that served as Meadow Grove’s town hall. Folding chairs were arranged in two sections with a narrow aisle between and on either side. Both sections faced a raised platform where the four-person town council chatted quietly among themselves.
Chatter flowed through the general seating as well, and the snippets Dave heard chiefly seemed to fall under the category of gossip. If gossip includes mundane bits of trivial news. On one side, four people were discussing how several birdbaths had been found tilted on their pedestals. Coincidence or an act of mischief? On the other side, there were giggles over a misprint on a flyer hanging in the local diner.
Dave ignored them all, looking down at the folded letter on his lap. He had always dreamed of moving to a picturesque town that had high-speed internet—to support his remote job—even if it didn’t have any traffic lights, and he’d found that in Meadow Grove.
Yet moving to Meadow Grove had been an adjustment. While he hoped to buy a small house, he started with an apartment above the general market. Mainly because it was available with a six-month lease so he could live in town while looking for a house. A lease he had signed immediately, scarcely looking at the terms or the thick community handbook that had accompanied it. Which likely explained why he had received the letter now folded on his lap.
At the front of the room, a woman near the center of the council tapped a scarred wooden gavel on the plain wooden table. Knowing that gavels typically came in a set with a block to strike, Dave idly wondered when this gavel’s block had been lost to time.
The room quieted and Dave reread the names plates set before each member of the council. The woman with the gavel was Cynthia Hirt. Dave recognized her name from his letter and her face from around town, though this was the first time he put those pieces of information together. This unassuming, grandmotherly woman he’d often seen in town was Cynthia Hirt, the town mayor.
As she brought the meeting to order, the townspeople came to attention, and the agenda got underway. Dave quickly realized that the people around him were not just attentive, they were engaged. They had opinions about rules for the library’s Bake for Books bake sale and concerns about the booth sizes at the upcoming Wine and Waffles festival. For Dave, their involvement was fascinating. Like wandering onto a movie set because people in real life could not possibly care this much about the goings on in their small town.
His amusement faded when Cynthia Hirt rapped her gavel and moved on to her review of town infractions. Dave’s face felt hot. He clutched his folded letter, but his name was not called first. Or second. Or third. The first three people called each had one or two small infractions. One for parking a boat on his lawn, the others for small matters like overgrown hedges encroaching on the sidewalk or failing to replace a broken porch light for several weeks.
When Dave’s name was called, an expectant hush fell over the room. Dave had the distinct impression everyone there already knew exactly what was written in the letter he had received.
“Three counts of public singing. Two counts of unauthorized disposal of personal trash in a town dumpster. How do you plead?”
All eyes turned to Dave. Even those sitting directly in front of him shifted in their seats to briefly peer back at his reddened face.
“Plead?” he repeatedly questioningly. The other offenders had merely paid their fines and promised to correct the issue.
“You’re new in town,” the mayor said patiently. “You have the right to plead your case on any first offense.”
“Oh.” Dave glanced again at the folded paper in his lap. “The letter didn’t say that. Just to come to the town meeting for review.”
A ripple of whispers spread through the room. The mayor’s smile strained as she said, “Yes, the procedure isn’t explained in the letter. It’s outlined in the community handbook. Have you read the handbook?”
“Not completely,” Dave mumbled. In truth, he hadn’t made it past the first three pages of town history. Cynthia nodded to a young man standing to the right of the platform. He retrieved a copy of the community handbook from a small bookshelf and brought it to Dave.
“Page 53,” the mayor directed.
Dave ruffled pages, glad for a reason to look away. When he found the correct page, he skimmed the list of rules, quickly finding one that banned whistling or singing loudly on the town streets without a permit.
“On three occasions, you’ve driven down Main Street with your car windows open, singing loudly with the music playing in your car. Music which, on at least one occasion, may have been inappropriate for young children. Though that was unclear so not included in this charge. Were you aware that this was inappropriate behavior?”
“No,” Dave answered slowly. At the time, he’d laughed at the pearl-clutching reactions from some residents walking down the street. Now, he was glad he hadn’t yelled or gestured at them in response.
“And are you aware of the rule about not using town dumpsters for personal trash?”
“Page 54,” another council member added helpfully.
Dave shook his head, barely glancing at the next page in the handbook.
“No, but it was just my weekly trash. I thought that’s where it went.”
“Were you told to put your weekly trash in the dumpster behind the market?” Cynthia looked at Dave over the top of her reading glasses, and he tried not to squirm in his seat.
“Well, no… I was told to take my weekly trash to that wooden platform in the back alley, which is also right behind the market. Since I live above the market,” Dave added on the off chance anyone there didn’t know where he lived.
“But you didn’t put your trash on the platform, did you?”
“Uh… no… But the dumpster is like six feet away. I thought I was helping.” The council members exchanged knowing looks and smiles, while many neighbors whispered and shook their heads.
“Look,” Dave said abruptly. “It doesn’t make any sense for me to take my trash down the stairs and outside just to leave it on a platform a few feet from the dumpster. I’m supposed to have it there by 9 am, then these two guys come down the alley, gathering all the trash from those platforms to put in the dumpster before the truck comes by around at 11. That doesn’t make any sense! Why pay two guys to move trash bags from up and down one street to a dumpster that’s right there? So, I walked my trash those extra feet myself. If we all did that, you could tighten up the budget. Maybe not need a bake sale to get new books for the library.”
Dave nodded, pleased with his answer before seeing his neighbors’ frowning faces. The mayor sat straighter. Her eyes flashed angrily.
“Are you condesplaining to me? In a town council meeting?”
“Condesplaining?” Dave echoed in confusion.
“Page 58,” the other council member snapped. But before Dave could turn a page, the mayor began explaining.
“No condesplaining is one of our newer social guidelines, which you would have known if you had read the handbook as required in your lease. It refers to the obnoxious practice of condescendingly explaining something without regard for the listener’s expertise. As in the case of a new resident explaining how trash collection works to the town’s mayor. A person who clearly would already be well-informed about the topic.”
“I—uh,” Dave spluttered, noticing that the other townspeople were now looking away from him. “Condesplaining? You have an actual law about that?”
“A social guideline,” the mayor corrected. “A social guideline isn’t a law but a strong suggestion for appropriate community behavior. Although, repeated failure to follow social guidelines could break a law on neighborly behavior.”
“You’re kidding!” Dave said, again feeling like he was in a movie without having seen the script. But the mayor only sighed and tilted her head at him in a gesture of practiced patience.
“Read the handbook,” she said firmly. “As for the existing charges, we’ll assess a $50 fine on the understanding that you will read the handbook and follow the rules going forward. Do you accept these terms?”
Dave looked around the room, seeing surreptitious glances and encouraging smiles from several neighbors.
“I guess, uh, yes.”
With that resolved, the meeting moved on and soon wrapped up. Dave stood, awkwardly gripping his folded letter, and the neighbors on his right invited him for coffee at the diner.
As they walked the short distance, with a small group headed to the same place, some of Dave’s neighbors teased him about the review.
“Are you condesplaining to me?” one of them mocked in a fair impression of Mayor Hirt.
“Don’t worry, new guy,” another said good-naturedly. “You’ll get the hang of which rules to follow and which to ignore. Someday, you may even run for town council!”
They all laughed, Dave hardest of all as he balled up his folded letter and dropped it in the nearest trash can.
The End
Thanks for joining me. I don’t know where that story was going, or if it really came together all that well, but sometimes that happens. I hope you enjoyed anyways and enjoyed that made-up word. If you’re enjoying Freely Written, please share it with your friends. You can also go back through the past episodes for any stories you may have missed, and don’t forget to check out my website: SusanQuilty.com.
Until next time, try a little free writing of your own. Let go of any planning and see where your imagination takes you.
[Light piano music]
