Jack of Diamonds
In 2009, the United States Playing Card Company closed its Cincinnati factory and relocated across the Ohio River to Kentucky. Production problems ensued. Cards would stick together. Some were printed off-center. The trust of the public dwindled.
For the first and only time known to mankind, the Face Cards from all four suits held an offsite meeting to discuss potential solutions.
I recently discovered the minutes from that meeting. They are as follows.
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Jack of Diamonds arrived thirteen minutes past the hour. His tardiness didn’t deter him from examining the coffee bar at the back of the boardroom, which to his disbelief, did not have almond milk. Nor did it stop him from immediately chiming in as soon as he settled into his seat.
“We’ve been perfect for decades. The public needs to chill. We don’t need to do anything.”
“Centuries,” King of Hearts corrected.” We’ve been perfect for centuries, Jack.”
The group’s attention turned back to King of Diamonds, who was using phrases like optimal playability, deck synergy, and user interface-ology. The other cards weren’t sure if he was making shit up or using the latest buzzwords they weren’t privy to yet.
He was, in fact, making shit up. But he mistook the room’s confused facial expressions for thoughtful listening, and so the King of Diamonds continued.
“Last thing I’ll say is this. Our intentional diversifying efforts are worth circling back on.”
“That’s a human problem,” Jack of Spades said. “We literally couldn’t be more equally represented.”
The group thought on that for a beat.
Queen of Clubs broke the silence, “Maybe we go the other way. Exclusivity has always worked for Clubs.”
The Queen of Hearts rolled her eyes so hard, the movement of her eyeballs rotating in her skull was actually audible. “Family,” she commanded. “Wholesome fun for the whole family is what we’re about. That should be our new tagline right there. Wholesome fun for the whole family.”
King of Spades: “I hate to play devil’s advocate…”
The King of Spades loved to play devil’s advocate.
“…But solitaire is our most popular game. So maybe it’s less about the whole family and more about escaping from them.”
Queen of Spades: “Oh, that’s rich. You would come up with an “escape the family” concept. As if solitaire is what pulls you away, instead of a long weekend in god knows where with lord knows who.”
Jack of Hearts attempted to deflate the awkward situation, “Times have been tough, but let’s just remember to love one another.”
His heart was in the right place, but Jack of Hearts was impossible to take seriously with a steady stream of vape cloud accompanying every word coming from his mouth. That and his lack of shoes and sleeves.
The table’s attention shifted to the conference room doors, where the 10 of Diamonds was jiggling the handles. Then, pounding on them, yelling, “Are you really going to lock me out? I belong in this meeting.”
The 10 of Diamonds wasn’t locked out. He was pushing instead of pulling.
“This is a Face Card meeting,” Queen of Diamonds shouted at the door, matter of factly, assuming, as the other cards did, that the 10 of Diamonds was, indeed, locked out.
The 10 of Diamonds expected the Face Cards to say this. He practiced his comeback on the way over, “I’m literally worth the same value as you.”
“Yeah, but it’s different, though?” The Queen of Diamonds more so asked than stated. Then, answered her own question by nodding, looking around the room, hoping it was contagious.
It was. All the Face Cards were now nodding.
The 10 of Diamonds hadn’t expected such an honest, simple response. It was different, though. He knew it. They knew it. Everyone knew it. Even though no one could explain it, a Face was worth more than a Number. Always. Except for an Ace. Sometimes. Spiraling into existential confusion, the 10 of Diamonds walked away.
The rest of the hour was spent discussing how and why the Faces were different from 10s, which none of the Faces really knew, so they talked in circles until the clock told them to stop. The only brief interruption being a Two charging in with a flask and a pack of cigarettes, wondering if this was the shuffling room.
“Deuces are wild,” Jack of Clubs spoke for everyone.
The Threes through Nines were never discussed. Nor present. They were in the factory, fixing the problems with the machines. When the Faces returned, the Threes explained that a laser cutter needed unplugged and plugged back in, which was partly true. The real solution was too complex to get into with the Faces, for the Numbers didn’t have the energy to answer follow-ups or, worse, contain a tailspin of ideas the nuanced explanation would cause the Faces to pursue.
Though none of the Faces, especially not Jack of Diamonds, would ever realize it, the first solution presented thirteen minutes into their meeting was the correct one. Jack of Diamonds was right. They didn’t need to do anything. He was wrong about why that was the correct answer. But if the Face Cards could agree on anything, it was that you didn’t need to know why you were correct to act like you are.
—
A Note from the Editor:
I uncovered these meeting notes in a storage unit that previously belonged to The Joker, who was the unbiased third-party agreed upon by the Faces to record the minutes during their meeting.