We were having dinner at a friends house recently, eating dinner and somehow the conversation found it's way to the topic of a persons' I.Q. Not just a random person, but someone specific. Some sports player or movie personality.
That led us all to wonder about our own, and as we sat there, food still on the plates in front of us - The Dad pulls out his iPhone, searches for and downloads an I.Q. Test app. And starts it. <sigh>
The conversation continues as the girls cleared the plates from the table into the kitchen and put food into containers, refresh our wine... When I walked back to the dining room, our host called me over to the living room, had pulled up an I.Q. Test app (the same one The Dad was doing) on his iPad and said "Here. You do it."
I didn't shy away from it or drag my feet as I walked in there - thus telling me that I'd had just enough wine to not really take it seriously or be concerned. Yet. So while our hosts warmed up the dessert I'd prepared and served it to the other guests and the kids in the house - I went to task on this I.Q. test. I talked to myself a bit while I took it and for a time, felt like I was competing with The Dad as he continued to take it on his iPhone.
At one point, as I was nearing the finish line - The Dad said he couldn't concentrate on it with the "commotion", and that he'd finish it later. I on the other hand - started it, and was going to finish it. A few times Rich sat down next to me and would listen to me and my "Rainman" impression as I worked through the problems in front of me. He offered his thoughts twice - and out of 33 questions, I only recall that on the second question, I didn't agree with his thoughts and went with my own answer. I remember the problem even, for whatever that's worth.
The conversation and laughter continued on at the table and as I neared the final couple of questions - it was apparent the wine had evaporated right on out of me, it's side effects gone and I had realized that I was going to finish the test and have a score pop up on the screen... with all of our friends sitting there, anticipating what it was, how I did. Crap.
As I weighed these thoughts that were coming quickly and, out of fear, worried that those thoughts would bring on a massive hot flash - I told myself that I was amongst friends, I knew I couldn't be much worse than "average" and that it was good to be humble and this would hold me to that. Unfortunately.
I started the last problem, made my selection and hit ENTER for the last time. It was here I hoped that an advertisement or seven would pop up and my credit card number would be required to get the score - especially since Rich and Cheri came to sit by me as I finished.
That didn't happen. I hit "ENTER" and up popped my score. BOOM! Right there. No hiding it now.
126
Absolutely! Of COURSE it was 126! Why did I fret about it!?!? I felt as I had "Rainman'd" myself through them all - that I had done so thoroughly. I didn't feel like I just picked any answer to pick one... I was ON FIRE! Obviously. The Dad had this pained look on his face, as if he wasn't sure whether to accept my score for what it was, or... was it... perhaps....
FEAR?!?!?!?
No. It wasn't fear. Well, not competitive fear. Just a bit of exasperation that my head might swell a little. Plus some. And it did... a little. Plus some.
|
How should you interpret an IQ score? The table below has been derived from Resing en Blok (2002)1 and provides a clear overview.
| IQ | Percentage of the population with this IQ | Interpretation |
|---|---|---|
| > 130 | 2.1 | Very gifted |
| 121-130 | 6.4 | Gifted |
| 111-120 | 15.7 | Above average intelligence |
| 90-110 | 51.6 | Average intelligence |
| 80-89 | 15.7 | Below average intelligence |
| 70-79 | 6.4 | Cognitively impaired |
The next day, The Dad pulled up the test again and began quietly working through them. I leaned over him at one point to see where he was on it and said something like: "Oh. I remember this one. You want to know what I did here? Or how I dissected the information and came up with MY answer?"
The Dad: "No. I do NOT want your help. Just let me do this."
WOTY: "I'm just sayin... sheesh."
SOME TIME later I peeked over his shoulder again and he immediately turned away so I could not see where he was at. I could see that he was close, but was anxious because that score made me feel exceptionally smarter all of the sudden. The suspense was killing me!
The time had come. He hit "ENTER" that last time and with me sitting practically on top of him so as to see his score - it popped up. Now I never said I wouldn't tell people his score... but considering he made his own Bookface post telling people I was now calling him "Forrest" <snort>... I will divulge this much: He did get a 3 digit number.
Since then a few of the others from dinner that night have taken the test and sent their scores. The men with excuses like "I took it left handed." or "I was in between phone calls as I took it."
My only comment to The Dad was - "You know, if you'd have let me help you on a few of those..."
As it's gone since then - me working out in the mornings, gutting closets all afternoon and pajama/tv/couch bound by night - I usually find some time to allow thoughts into my head telling me that I really should be working, or looking for it. Doing something other than preparing my house for... nothing... Using my "gifted" brain. And then it dawns on me: I can't work.
I strive for perfection, am detail oriented, and finish things before people (boss type people) would expect something finished. I take pride in that. And then, as I usually do, I find ways to perfect age old processes (THEM: "because it's ALWAYS been done this way...") (ME: "not anymore"... because your archaic way is stupid) that include time-saving "enhancements" and are more proficient with technology now of days. Duh! Right? Working myself out of jobs... my mother always told me that I would do that. It was always just a saying to me - but dang... she's right. I'm TOO SMART to work.
So now it's time to embrace my "very superior intelligence" and put it to good use. I'm going to put all of the crap I've cleaned up back where it was because there's no way I'm cleaning inches of dust and miles of cobwebs out of here, just so "Forrest" can find a way to make me want to leave this "job".
Clearly, I'm smarter than your average bear.
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