Cynicism Is Underrated

Writer Wendy’s weekly blog

When I was teaching at the local college, friends and I formed the CAB club: cynical altruist bitches. We believed that it was important to do good but that doing it wouldn’t make any difference.

Diogenes the Cynic, of Greek philosophy

Our fundraising model—although we never implemented it—was to rob gas stations and give the money to charity. But since we were all professors, getting five people together at once on that kind of schedule proved impossible. Hence our low funding.

We did get a grant once, $12 from the Provost of the College to buy red felt-tipped pens so we could correct errant apostrophes and statements of fact on public signs. None of us ever got prosecuted for the graffiti we left across town. My favorite correction was one of members who corrected “Vote Republican, Save America” to “Enslave.”

Cynics get a lot done, you have to admit. We’re grumpy and mutter things under our breath while we write policies we know will be rejected, demanding things like not promoting scholarship opportunities to students if they require a video application. Why do you need to know if the student is pretty? Or Black? Or Trans? (We did actually get one such application process changed; the problem with success among cynics is it deflates rather than fuels our contrariness-energized campaigns.)

Jokes among cynics are easy to spot, especially at Christmas. I admit, to this day one of my favorite responses when someone approaches me saying “Ho Ho Ho” is to snarl, “How dare you shame women like that?”

Cynicism walks close to bad virtue signaling. Recently some friends were grousing about how hard it can be to find the right words for a grant application to describe people who don’t have money and probably came from families who had experienced poverty before them. As the group shared how bad some of the options were—economically challenged, financially at-risk, perpetual poverty—someone asked, “Why can’t we just say ‘poor?’”

A virtue signaler huffed. “That feels like shaming people. The granting agency would and should flag it.”

A second virtue signaler tried to climb on top. “People who are poor care a lot less what we call them than whether we can bring resources to them.”

To which the CAB member in the group snapped, “We’re not bringing resources to them; we’re funding the salary for someone who will have to figure out what to call them in the next grant we write off their backs—I mean, on their behalf.”

Merry Christmas to all the cynics out there.

Train Wreck Books

I have friends who are addicted to a TV show called “Walking Dead.” They are smart people with busy lives, so I don’t judge them–in public.

Sometimes we all need a little escapism, and they keep describing some crossbow tough guy Daryl who’s actually a sensitive caring soul; he seems to be doing the trick for them.

Yet bibliophiles are not so different. Those of you who read this blog regularly will know that Jack and I are bemused by customers who simultaneously buy Christian romances and Patricia Cornwells, but we also get it. As a friend who works with criminal court cases involving the abuse of children once said, “If I can read something worse than what I see every day, it reminds me there’s still room to look down.”

In fact, friends addicted to “Walking Dead” run heavily to academics working with the next generation of students. Perhaps we’ll stop that line of speculation now. But the fact remains that people enjoy reading about the train wrecks of others, mostly because we like to remind ourselves that things could be worse than we know they are. Gives us hope. Or cynical laughter.

Sometimes, in the dark spots, those two things aren’t that different, y’know?

We greet a lot of female customers sporting casual business attire and sensible, low-maintenance haircuts, who come into our bookshop and smile at us without saying much. They browse for 20 minutes, and leave with nine Ann Rules and a Karen Kingsbury. We know from previous conversations what kinds of jobs they do. Bless them for it, and we will keep stocking the shelves with those nasty paperbacks full of train wrecks that reassure them there’s still room to drop.

Is it reassuring? Well, maybe it’s like comfort food. A Kraft Mac and Cheese box supper served warm on a plate might have repercussions later, but it feels good going down. And it gives us the strength to get out there and do what must be done.

Go, girls. We’re rooting for you. Karen Slaughter and Dean Koontz will be waiting when you need them.