The sour-faced

When I was a kid, the worst accusation I ever heard my Dad level at anyone was this: “He takes himself too seriously.”

Dad wasn’t one to make caustic comments, so when I heard that one, I took heed.
Consequently, I was since inclined to view people through that lens. I’ve found that people who take themselves seriously are of one of two types: (1) crooks, who are out to swindle you and want to somehow intimidate you with an overbearing demeanor, or (2) people who are just plainly insecure and unhappy.

I have no need to put up with crooks or the sour-faced set, so I’ve rarely had to deal with people who take themselves too seriously.
The one time they really had me pinned down was when I was in the Navy, and would sometimes find myself cornered by simple minded white trash that outranked me. The late Joseph Heller memorialized that gig famously in his book “Catch-22.”

And, yes, out in the free world, the sour-faced, the whiners, the perpetually offended, the strident, the thin-skinned, the sensitive…well, they’re certainly there, like spiritual lepers, with nothing to flaunt but their oozing character flaws.

You know the type. They complain, screech, whine, snivel, object, and take offense to just about everything. They write Dear Abby about the imperfect state of the world (or, more to the point, the imperfect state of their neighbors), they write their congressmen demanding the Air Force be disbanded because some jet noise pierced the sanctity of TV time one recent evening, they write the XYZ corporation complaining that the sales clerk wasn’t “respectful” enough..and so on, and so on, and so on.

Like human dung beetles, they are condemned to spending their brief lives on the planet stuck to unhappy piles of unhappy stuff.

Whatever underlying truth is beneath all this is a question to be posed to psychologists, sociologists, and even the philosophers. It is no place for the economist. But, as a matter of business philosophy, or just plain day to day living philosophy, it is important to note that it’s better to laugh at dung beetles than it is to play with them.

No, the world isn’t perfect, but Saipan in the year 2000 is one of the more perfect places at a comparatively perfect time. Sure, the economy is lousy, but we’re still far wealthier, on a per- person basis, than most of the world is.

We’ve got all the technological marvels and goodies that the most advanced locales have; 747 jetliners, Internet access, good doctors, good dentists, Spice Girls videos, big stores, little stores, and, if the stores don’t have what you want, the U.S. postal service will deliver your Internet orders for ridiculously cheap.

No snow. No really substantial traffic jams. Little urban blight. Dollar tacos. Flame trees. Friendly people. Clean air. Smiling tourists…and, of course, those vacationing office ladies doing the Garapan Strut. All of this on a tiny tropical dot in the remote blue of the globe, that’s seldom if ever even named. If that’s not remarkable, then nothing is.

Which isn’t to say that some glaring flaws aren’t present, but why not acknowledge such things, if we must, with a light heart and a sense of humor, with wit, with insolence, even. Here, like anywhere, there’s a difference between being of critical mind and being merely critical. So never mistake overbearing self-righteousness for human worth. If you happen to encounter one of the human dung-beetles, just ignore them, and turn your eyes to the flame trees instead.