“The File Cabinet”

by Zoe Pollock David Cotrone recounts a conversation with a soldier:

In Baghdad, Mark has stood in a morgue packed with bodies, the smell of decay in his nose, blood on his boots. He’s turned right while the Humvee behind him turned left, the latter then obliterated by a bomb. He’s laughed at this matter of chance, thinking it could have been him, wasn’t he lucky? (All he could do was laugh, grieve for twenty minutes at the memorial service, strap on his gun, head back out into the streets, stay focused.) He’s been shot at by children who were given fifty dollars to shoot at American soldiers. He’s seen a baby being eaten by a dog on the side of the road. …

He’s given five dollars to children for picking up the trash on the street, for helping. He’s seen these children shot in the head by insurgents, left on the street as if they were symbols. He’s put these sights and memories somewhere deep within his mind, a place he calls his File Cabinet. Months later, the File Cabinet has been opened, kicked over, not even sleeping pills or anti-depressants able to close it or right it up. He’s tried to be “a callus.” He’s tried to forget. He’s walked over dead bodies. He’s been covered in dust, even after showering, nothing but dust. He’s felt responsible. He’s tried to justify giving those children money, getting them killed, all for picking up trash.

How Much Is Free?

by Zoe Pollock

Dan Ariely tries to measure the generosity of cities by looking at Craigslist's free listings, divided by how much furniture is for sale:

As you can see, Portland, SF Bay, Boston, and Seattle come up on top in terms of this measurement, with Miami, Phoenix, and Houston on the bottom.

Is this a good metric for measuring generosity across communities?

Keeping Vigil

by Zoe Pollock

Sameen Gauhar considers the journey:

It’s been eighteen days of waking up and going to bed with Al Jazeera in my ears—keeping vigil with those brave men, women, and children in Tahrir Square, in Alexandria, in Suez, in Tanta, feeling so proud of them, feeling such frustration on their behalf, too, bellowing out long-distance revolutionary advice to them (actually, to the computer screen with Al Jazeera streaming live): march to the palace, now; storm the Mogamma, now; go on strike, now; shut down the Suez Canal, now! Yallah—now! …

And now, with sounds of explosive celebration from Cairo via Al Jazeera in my ears, interspersed with the voice of a single man singing the Egyptian national anthem all by himself (as if this were a private moment), a stunned joy of sorts is slowly awakening. The last line of Brecht’s “Praise of the Dialectic,” too, rings in my ears: “Und aus Niemals wird: Heute noch!”: “And ‘never’ became: ‘this very day’”—that is to say, “now.”

Sober Truths

by Zoe Pollock

Joe Berkowitz gives up drinking and struggles with dating sober:

By her third drink, having a conversation with her was like trying to play the game Telephone during a Sleigh Bells concert. I didn't want to be judgmental. I wanted to be the coolest sober person ever. But she kept sucking down vodka tonics, as if in defiance of arcane Prohibition laws, and as she got looser, I grew more anxious: Am I allowed to kiss her like this? Did I even want to?

It was a mistake to pick up a girl in a bar in the first place, let alone bring her to another bar. It was like watching "Schindler's List"and complaining it wasn't funny enough.

… Most people you find attractive are not necessarily people you can spend a lot of time around. Getting drunk has the effect of turning any occasion into a party, though, and looking back, it can also do that with people. I always knew that alcohol made me feel so much more interesting. What I hadn't fully realized is how it made other people so much more interesting. When I think about successful dates from the past now, I wonder whether we were just fooling each other.

 

A Supposedly Fun Club I’ll Never Patronize, Ctd

by Conor Friedersdorf

A reader writes:

Since you're asking for feedback from people who have worked in bottle service and restaurants, yeah, your comments were totally bullshit in a bag. I mean really, people who work in these places are the problem? And what does it matter if it's a pretentious place? The people who work there are just working stiffs trying to make a living. You should try an honest job for a few years and see what it feels like. I mean, that would actually be the "conservative" thing to do to establish your cred, rather than being an underblogger for Andrew. But no, you got to piss and shit all over people who don't have your advantages in life, or your naivete.

Christ, get real dude. At least realize what a pretentious douche you are and stop projecting it onto people who serve you drinks and have to pretend to like it while you sneer at them and say they're the problem. Face it, in this case you're the problem. The sooner you figure that out and take some responsibility for being such a douche, the sooner you'll grow up and develop some sense of proportion about the imbalances of this world. And I say this not to blow off steam, but to offer some harsh but I hope helpful advice. I get that you don't see this about yourself, that you think you're one of the good guys. I've worked in enough bars and restaurants to know the type. But believe me, you are that asshole, the one who thinks he's not an asshole. Fortunately, you're still young enough to have some hope. But unless you change up, time will run out, and then you'll just be that middle-aged asshole who doesn't think he's an asshole, and that's just pathetic.

This gets a lot wrong, and very much misunderstands the argument I was making in my initial post. So a few words, and then I'll try again. First off, I never sneer at servers or bartenders. And I've gone so far as to end a date who didn't share my feelings on the matter. Second, I have worked answering the customer service line at Mazda where I got yelled at for hours on end by people whose cars were broken, and at a mortgage company where I got yelled at for hours on end by people whose refinance had been messed up by my bosses. Also, I get emails like yours a lot! So I know what it is to be abused by the customer (and you know what it is to abuse the people providing you a service, complete with profane insults and sweeping but uninformed judgments of their character).

Finally, perhaps I expressed it poorly, but I wasn't ever trying to blame bartenders or servers generally for the bad behavior of customers. The point I wanted to make was a lot more subtle, and a lot more narrow. Leave most people in the industry out of this. I am talking about a very specific kind of NYC bottle service establishment. Even there, the staff isn't responsible for the assholish behavior of the clients.

But a "bottle service girl," the occupation of the writer I criticized – and club managers and owners – do their best to cultivate, on a daily basis, the feeling among their clientelle that their surroundings are exclusive, and the illusion that the human interactions that take place on site are more than business. When a club owner goes into the bathroom to do coke with a regular patron, it is an act calculated to create in that person the idea that they're getting special treatment, that they have a unique relationship.

And hey, it's a living. But it seems absurd to make your living in a place with a velvet rope and VIP rooms and special rates for bottle delivery to your private table… and to mock your patrons for being so crass as to crave exclusivity, or so naive as to think there are even more exclusive rooms in the basement. Club owners deliberately create the illusion that their establishments are cooler and more exclusive than they are. Likewise, it seems wrong to understand full well that patrons are courted with the illusion of friendship, or at least friendliness that suggests more than a mere transactional relationship… and then to mock those same people for invoking their special status as friends of the owner.

It's the feeling of having that very status that the club labored to create.

Nevertheless, I sympathize with employees at these clubs when customers are jerks, or misunderstand what's going on. But I stand by the point I was trying to make: the particular dillema of customers with these specific pathologies? These establishments and the people that work there are helping to create it, so it seems unseemly to me when they lash out at the customers as if it makes them terrible people. It's wrong to have contempt for your servers… and wrong when they have contempt for the sort of customers their establishment and on the job behavior is designed to attract.

Sim City Moms Stay Home

by Zoe Pollock

Monica Potts comes to terms with the latent conservative within her when she plays video games:

As a Sim City expert, I can tell you that things function much more smoothly if taxes are low and city government caters to corporate interests. In the most recent version of the game, low-income housing is associated with higher crime rates, which necessitate more police stations. Low-income housing, however, packs in more workers per block, and I need all those workers in order to generate more revenue.

To keep them productive–if employees are unhappy, they go rogue, which, in the game's terms, means striking and shutting down their textile factories or meatpacking plants–I have to lull them into complacency with plenty of movie theaters, bowling allies, and pizza shops where they can "blow off steam." These workers produce until the city's coffers are full enough for me to raze their tenements and put in expensive brownstones instead. 

Swingers Was Right: Don’t Call

by Zoe Pollock

Piercarlo Valdesolo uncovers why uncertainty is an aphrodisiac:

[W]hen thoughts continuously pop into our heads people tend to construct explanations for why this occurs. If I can’t get this guy off my mind, I must really like him. So, the best strategy to pique the man or woman of your dreams might be to keep your feelings in the dark. Let them guess.

Serious People Drink Red

by Zoe Pollock

Jason Wilson tells those people to bug off:

White wine, in particular, unfortunately has become seen as a summertime dalliance. "No white between Labor Day and Memorial Day" is equally vapid advice in both fashion and wine.

… As I write this, days after the latest snowstorm, I'm sitting at my desk listening to "White Christmas." In honor of breaking stupid rules, I am dressed in a white blazer and white pants and white canvas boat shoes, and alternatively sipping from glasses of Italian whites. Italian whites! Wait! Wasn't a law passed that clearly stated those wines were for only the deck or the pool or perhaps girls' night out? Occasions, anyway, where they would be purchased by the glass or in 1.75-liter bottles? Yeah, no.