We live in a world infested with experts — body language experts who speculate on handshake meanings, social media experts who tweet about Twitter to Twitterbots, romance experts who tell you how to fuck on a pizza*. There are no rules to declaring yourself an expert. And when you’re self-important enough to think universally shared experiences are yours alone, you become a Keeper of the Common Knowledge.
*Cheese-up, while generously fingering your lover’s pepperoni chakra. You’re welcome, couples.
A Keeper of the Common Knowledge can become a leading mind on a subject after a Wikipedia paragraph or a few hazy childhood memories. Here’s how it works: Every day, about 4,500 American tourists check into Paris hotels. After a few days of standard vacation packaging, they come home, and their barely noteworthy trip is only brought up every time France is mentioned for the rest of their lives. But for a Keeper of the Common Knowledge, those three days offered an insight into a culture so complete that they know the mysterious French people better than they know themselves.
A Keeper of Common Knowledge offers their wisdom when you need it least. They are bursting with things no person could possibly not know, and it spills out at the slightest relevance. They might insert themselves into a discussion about pro wrestling only to explain it’s fake. If you make eye contact with them at a buffet, they give conspiratorial advice, like how to pile the most expensive foods into little shrines honoring your victory over the restaurant. They interrupt movies to share arcane knowledge like how guns are quite noisy or hanging from a cliff makes your arms tired. They’re the kind of person who tells you not to use shampoo as a lubricant, as if they’re the inventor of making love to a bowling ball. Let me spend Valentine’s Day however I want, genius.