A few weekends ago, I rode my scooter to a farmers market. My goal was to enjoy a peaceful shopping experience on a sunny afternoon, support local agriculture by purchasing usuriously priced produce, and get some root vegetables.
Sometimes people call me a churlish misanthrope. I promptly correct these people by pointing out that I don’t actually hate everyone — just idiots, morons, and dullards. And that it’s not really my fault that they are not in short supply and — in fact — the world seems to have been completely overrun with them.
Some people then go on to tell me that I violate the social contract, because I have the audacity to say what I’m thinking. Polite society — I am told (since I let my membership lapse long ago) — is predicated on a bunch of people running around and lying to a bunch of other people about what they’re actually thinking, then going home and resenting the fact that they can’t actually say what they’re actually thinking. Seems like an awful lot of effort and subterfuge.
My way is easier, and frankly, more entertaining. (At least to me, which is what matters most to me.)
But what does my egocentrism and condemnation of the social contract have to do with root vegetables?