can’t
“Excuse me,” I say. “I have a class in quantum mechanics in half an hour. How do I get to the physics building?”
“Oh,” the registrar says, “that’s easy. You just need to take a right here, and then to get into the building you jump fifty feet into the air.”
“…I can’t do that.”
“Are you sure? Have you tried?”
“I’ve tried jumping before, yes–”
“And you jumped higher when you tried harder, right?”
“Well, yes–”
“So are you really sure you don’t just need to try even harder?”
“Look, I don’t know exactly how high is the most I can jump, but I promise you, no matter how hard I try, I am not going to jump fifty feet in the air. I literally can’t.”
“Excuse me,” I say. “How do I get to the physics building?”
“Oh, that’s easy. You just need to levitate to reach the door.”
“…I can’t do that.”
“Have you tried?”
“That is not a capability I have. There is no action I can take which would even constitute trying. I literally cannot levitate.”
“Excuse me. How do I get to the physics building?”
“It’s right down this path. But the mad science building does give off some fumes, so you will need to hold your breath for ten minutes on the way there.”
“…I can’t do that.”
“Have you tried?”
“Sure. I can only hold my breath for, like, two minutes maximum before I have to start breathing again.”
“You know, you say you have to, but it seems more like you just get uncomfortable and choose to start breathing again. I think you just need to learn to put up with a little discomfort.”
“…that’s not really–”
“Are you saying that you can’t grit your teeth and put up with the discomfort and keep holding your breath when you want to stop?”
“–I mean, yes, I can do that, but–”
“So what’s the problem? Sometimes people have to do things they don’t like. That’s not the same as not being able to do them.”
“I literally cannot hold my breath for ten minutes!”
“Excuse me. How do I get to the physics building?”
“It’s right across that tightrope.”
“…I can’t walk a tightrope.”
“You’re being ridiculous. Look at that girl walking it right now. Which of the things that she’s doing are you unable to do?”
“…walk … a …. tightrope?”
“Are you saying that you can’t put one foot in front of another?”
“Walking a tightrope involves balancing!”
“Oh, so you’re saying you can’t shift your weight from one side to the other?”
“I’m saying I literally cannot walk a tightrope!”
“Excuse me. How do I get to the physics building?”
“It’s just through that pit of ravenous crocodiles.”
“…I can’t get through a pit of ravenous crocodiles.”
“I saw you do it just the other day!”
“Right, yes, when I tripped and fell into the pit of ravenous crocodiles, I did manage to sprint across to the ladder and climb out without getting eaten–”
“So you admit you can do it.”
“I did it once.”
“Is there some reason that you won’t be able to do it next time?”
“I might be able to do it next time! I don’t know for sure! But my physics class meets three times a week, I’m going to get eaten by the end of adds-drops! I cannot cross a pit of ravenous crocodiles!”
“Excuse me. How do I get to the physics building?”
“Through the field of eternal fire.”
“…I can’t cross the field of eternal fire.”
“Really? Are you sure you don’t just need to try harder?”
“I am pretty sure I can’t cross the field of eternal fire, yes.”
“I bet if you really wanted to you could. What if the world depended on you crossing it?”
“…if the world depended on me crossing it, I would try, but I would end up covered in third-degree burns and with my feet burned off and on fire and dying.”
“So you admit you can cross it.”
“No! I cannot cross the field of eternal fire!”
“Excuse me. How do I get to the physics building?”
“It’s right across the street.”
“The gate’s locked.”
“Yeah, you just need to unlock it.”
“…I can’t.”
“All you need to do is push buttons. You’re perfectly capable of pushing buttons.”
“I don’t know the combination! I cannot unlock the gate!”
this is either a very heartfelt and moving analogy or op lives in banjo kazooie