Recently, the New York Times profiled a man who’s gone to extremes to avoid any news of the Trump presidency.
Dubbing him “The Man Who Knew Too Little,” the Times says Mr. Erik Hagerman grew so distressed, after Election night 2016, that he moved to a pig farm in southeast Ohio, refusing all news sources and insisting that all friends, relatives and baristas honor his wishes.
It reminds me of a friend who didn’t want to hear the sex of the baby my husband and I were expecting. I was not amused. “This little varmint is kicking me from the inside,” I told her, “and I sure as heck want to know who I’m dealing with. If you want to stay ignorant, then stay away till he — oops! or she — is born.”
Mr. Hagerman has to hear about some things. Even a lonely pig farmer takes notice when hog futures fall through the floor, thanks to an out-of-the-blue trade war with China!
There are other “extreme lifestyles” out there, too. For instance, columnist David Gelles recently wrote “Going Cashless: My Journey Into the Future.”
He explains how, thanks to Amazon, Uber and Seamless, he hardly needed cash at all, except for tipping and babysitters.
What might happen, I wonder, if these bold pioneers ever met?
Suppose, one day, Mr. Know-Nothing gets bored and takes a walk down an Ohio road.
Perhaps he wanders into a gas station where — averting his eyes from the racks of magazines with news and photos —he attempts to buy a logo-free hat and some beef jerky.
“Why is everyone wearing pink all the time?” he asks. “Even men?”
“You don’t want to know,” replies the clerk. “That’ll be 15 dollars.”
Just then a stranger comes in, a little breathless, and interrupts. “I’m really sorry,” he says to the clerk, “but I’ve just filled my tank with gas and the credit card reader’s not working.”
“I know,” says the clerk. “It’s busted. That’s why I crossed out ‘or credit’ on the “cash or credit’ sign out there.”
“So I assume you take Apple Pay?”
“Nope.”
“Or Pay Pal?”
“Do I look like a website?”
“Or Ven-mo?”
“What’s that?” asks the clerk. “Never mind. Just write me a check.”
“That’s the thing,” says the stranger. “I’m on a mission. I’m trying to use nothing but credit for at least a year … I’m writing for the New York Times…”
“Stop!” the first two men shout and cover their ears.
That’s when a bell rings, and a slightly overweight middle-aged woman walks in.
“I’ve just gotta have coffee,” she exclaims. “I’m driving back home from a writer’s conference, and I’m dying for caffeine. Have you got some?”
“Right over there,” says the clerk, pointing with his chin. “But I hope you’ve got cash.”
“Cash? Why, that’s all I’ve got!” she says, cheerfully. “My husband’s put me on an all-cash diet. I mean budget. He calls it ‘Paying-as-you-go,’ but it’s more like ‘Pain-as-you-Go,’ because every penny hurts so much.”
“Why does he want that?” asks Cashless.
“Oh, he thought it might help me keep expenses under control. Turns out he underestimated me. Again.” She laughs. “But at least with cash, the Russians and Facebook won’t know what I’m doing!”
“What’s she talking about?” Know-Nothing mutters to the clerk.
“Why, it’s all over the news,” blurts Cashless. “Haven’t you heard?”
“Not if I can help it,” says Know-Nothing, sternly. He grabs a knit hat from the rack behind him and jams it on his head. It’s pink, of course.
“It’s the only problem with using credit everywhere,” says Cashless. “Getting hacked, I mean.”
“Well, that and paying for a full tank of gas,” says the clerk, bringing everyone down to earth.
“I’d gladly help you,” says Know-Nothing, “but I forgot my wallet. I was hoping to run a tab,” he tells the clerk.
“Never mind,” says the woman. “I’ve got this.”
She pulls out some bills, still crisp from the ATM. “I feel sorry for you all. You (to the clerk) because it must kill you, all the things you can’t say; you, Cashless, because you will surely be hacked, by everything from your credit cards to your Fitbit; and you most of all, Mr. Know-Nothing, because someday you’re facing quite the learning curve.
“Whereas all I have to do is figure out how to write off a tank of gas and some beef jerky as a business expense. Tootaloo!”
