Dear Uptight Seattleite,
I have trouble arranging social occasions with Seattleites. People say we should get together sometime, but “sometime” never arrives. We never grab that beer or go for that hike. I’m starting to get a complex here. Is it me?
Solitary Cecil
Dear Cecil,
Does Ip see? Maybe, maybe not, but I think you will. “Ip see,” you see, Cecil, is how we pronounce IPSEA, or Indefinitely Postponed Social Engagements Association. The letters stand chastely isolated in the five squares of our invisible membership pins. It’s my honor to pin one of these tasteful rectangles on you now. Don’t wince—I won’t stick you. There! Welcome! The Association hereby grants you freedom from association.
Why go to all this trouble? Because the custom humans have of gathering in groups is so ingrained that we feel compelled at least to acknowledge it. IPSEA membership allows us to do this without any of the hassle of actually socializing. The pretense can occasionally wear a little thin, but that’s why we have contingencies, like increasing the number of people included in our nonexistent social events. When is there a day that’s good for all six of us? Never? Hooray!
It’s not so much misanthropy as practicality, Cecil. It would be easier for us just to get home to our dogs and our Netflix. We assume it would be easier for you, too. With our IPSEA pins shielding our hearts, we don’t have to pretend otherwise. Well, we have to pretend a little—how does the week after next look for you?
Dear Uptight Seattleite,
I’ve noticed that when two people walking dogs go past each other, they’ll talk to each other’s dogs but not to each other. Can you shed some light on this odd behavior?
Delicious Daphne
Dear Daphne,
A dog’s identity is much more tenuous than yours. Her personality, history, and moods exist largely only insofar as they’re narrated by humans. For example, Georgina probably appears to be simply staring blankly into space right now. Unless I tell you, you won’t know that she’s sulking because of the little talk about personal boundaries we had after she chased a squirrel again this morning. And you won’t know she loves kids, has come to prefer a vegetarian diet, and always knows when it’s bath day. Given this tenuousness, you shouldn’t begrudge any dog the chance to have her personhood reinforced by a passing stranger observing that she sure is a good girl. If this comes at the cost of human-to-human contact, well, we’ve already seen that this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Dear Uptight Seattleite,
I’m a tech guy who recently had a job interview with a large online retailer. The usual crew was tag-teaming me—first the ass-kissy HR lady, followed by a dev who expressed his dominance by making me do problems on the white board, a sweaty-palmed project manager, and a half-dozen other bozos. The last one was evidently their specialist in “out of the box” questions. “How would you count all the windows in Boston?”—that kind of thing. At one point he held up a red pen and said, “This is a black pen.” You seem to consider yourself something of a specialist in out-of-the-boxness yourself, so maybe you’ll know what I should have done in this situation.
Tup Tech Tim
Dear Tim,
According to what I’ve heard, where job interviewers once may have seen themselves as lords and dukes, the current economy has elevated their self-image to something more like Zen masters and Jedi Knights. In his mind, out-of-the-box guy levitates cross-legged above you, his lips twitching slightly as he holds back an ironic smile. He believes your position is so debased that you’ll surely tremble at the slightest rustling of his robes.
The right response might be to focus on the only person you can control here: You. Maybe this is an opportunity to set aside the disdain for other people so evident in your letter. To rest the spiritual muscles that now strain under the burden of this disdain. To feel the rejuvenating power of selflessness flow through your veins. Start by admitting to this purveyor of koans that his mastery of paradox is far greater than yours will ever be, and that you hope you get the job just so you can become his mentee.
Of course, maybe you’ll find that the price of your dignity isn’t subject to decline after all. In that case, I suggest you point a finger pistol at him, say “This is not a squirt gun filled with my urine,” and pull the trigger.
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