Two old men talking politics at a diner. This might seem like a cliché, but I see them almost every time I’m there, so maybe some clichés are true. It’s not always the same men or the same diner or even the same town, but they’re always around. It’s like their natural habitat. They sit at the counter, a newspaper stained with coffee and ash unfolded between them, echoing the Opinion page:
“Oh, the recession ain’t anywhere near over. This ain’t like Mexico, you can’t get cheap labor like that here.” And Guy #1 will go on with his argument for a while until Guy #2 finally has enough and interrupts.
“…But I’m sayin’ it doesn’t make no difference to me whether we’d have Obama or McCain, the economy would still be goin’ to shit because of all them Wall Street bankers and CEOs…”
Or something to that effect, for hours on end, discussing economics or foreign policy or whatever hot-button issue makes the headlines that day, in rough, gravelly voices periodically interrupted by loose, phlegmy coughs. I’m never sure if it’s all the coffee and cigarettes that cause them to sound so battered and sickly or if it’s the politics – more specifically, the bitter, endless disputes that go along with it.
I remember a commercial from when I was a kid, a public service announcement, actually, that claimed every cigarette you smoke takes seven minutes off of your life. So what about political arguments? A really bad one can literally go on for hours. Then factor in all the cigarettes you have to chain-smoke to keep yourself from pummeling the other person… in just one argument, you’ve shortened your life by at least three or four hours! Say you have one of those every week. 52 weeks times (let’s say) 3.5 lost hours is 182 hours or about 7.5 days every year, more or less. It’s a dangerous hobby – just look at what happened to Hunter S. Thompson.
In my experience, political debates just go in circles, a lot like a merry-go-round: At first it’s really exhilarating and you’re getting really into it, the rush, the speed, the wind in your hair. But after so long you realize you’re not going anywhere and then you get dizzy and angry and just want to puke. Some of the worst arguments can go on for hours, especially when alcohol is involved. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. I’ve even been stupid enough to get involved in a few. Nobody ever “wins.” Very rarely does anyone compromise or admit they were wrong, because nobody wants to be wrong. In fact, both sides usually leave with their own beliefs strengthened. Afterward, all I feel is angry, angrier than I was before the argument started, and nauseous, like I’m coming down with a bad flu or maybe something even worse, something chronic and longterm that keeps coming back, like cancer. There’s still that merry-go-round effect – I know I might get sick, but I just can’t resist the initial rush.
After a while, a waitress will appear from the kitchen with a pot of coffee, walk toward the counter, then hover over the two men and briefly listen to their tirade, maybe because she’s genuinely interested in what they have to say or maybe to be polite and let one of the two finish his thought before interrupting to ask whether they’d like a refill or not. And one of the two will look up at her and say, “Ohhhh, I donno… well sure, why not,” then smile for the first time in what seems like years, adding, “Ya gotta go somehow, right?” as he lights another cigarette.
