Watch out for unreliable narrators | 9th–15th Oct. 2024

I was around 25 when a bank first offered me a credit card. I said, “No thanks.” I thought it was a trick. There is no such thing as free money. When I turned 50, I changed my mind. But I always thought I could pay with cash. Then the pandemic hit and stores wouldn’t accept my dirty money. It had germs.

Well, in our apartment building, I learn from Anitra that the washers and dryers on the third floor only accept credit or debit cards. No quarters. In addition, the washing machines do not have containers for refilling soap. Why is that? Was the provision of these high-tech containers associated with high costs? Or has it become another health problem? Have people started licking the soap containers?

In my time we used roosts and felt free like little birds. If we didn’t have enough quarters, we knew we were doing too much laundry. And we were grateful that we wouldn’t go into debt.

Speaking of things to be grateful for, I’ve finally learned enough about what SOAP and SODA mean, enough that I’m worried about the laws. That’s good news. I’m not so old that I can’t learn new tricks. My dementia is just beginning. It’s not in full swing.

Here’s how I got it explained to me: Let’s take it for granted that since I look like an aging hippie, the police have permission to act on the assumption that I’m in the market for illegal drugs, too if that’s the case I’ve never taken illegal drugs in my life. Except when Spiro T. Agnew was vice president and I inhaled some stuff that was being passed around at parties. I didn’t pay for it, and hey, it was justified because Agnew was vice president. Do you remember Nolo Contendere? Those were stressful times. We all needed Gerald Ford, and then we needed Nixon to resign and let Ford become president.

OK, what should I do if a SOAP situation arises? Do I look like a john or a male prostitute? I can’t lie, I seriously thought about trying out being a male prostitute, but then I saw Midnight Cowboy and decided I’d rather play the role of Dustin Hoffman. Here in Seattle, I’ve often yelled at drivers, “Hey! I’m going here!” Anyway, now that I’m 75, the whole situation has become ridiculous. I was never interested in the services of prostitutes, not even when Gerald Ford became vice president. But those I met all seemed well-intentioned and had great stories to tell.

As for Dustin Hoffman, I don’t understand why drivers in metal machines protected from the elements have to be in a hurry to get somewhere. I’m a pedestrian who has good reasons to get out of the rain quickly. And I know exactly how to do it: “Get your damn car out of my room!” I’m not coming into your room!”

Allow me to change the subject. Trump was interviewed by some idiot and started bragging about how he was rambling and everything was getting out of hand. Trump said he was brilliant, how he talks about all sorts of things and only comes back to the question after a while and it all comes together and (he says) it’s brilliant and amazing. And no one can figure out how he does it.

This all seemed really familiar to me. I tend to write columns like this. What a frightening realization. Well, yes. However, it’s true: Digression can be a superpower. It’s like Lawrence of Arabia’s trick of making matches burn out in his fingers. There is no trick; You just do it. And when I keep coming back to the question: That doesn’t really happen. Your audience will simply lose track of the question, allowing you to pause at any point and happily accept that you’ve gotten back to the point.

There is a trick to setting up mathematical paradoxes. You know what kind I’m talking about. “In a certain town, the town barber shaves everyone who doesn’t shave themselves.” Who tells us that? It’s a narrator. Why do you always think he knows what he’s talking about?

You don’t expect the narrator to try to trick you.

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Read more about the 9-15 issue. October 2024.