Chapter 10: The Forks spend a day among the “bougie” natives of Park City and Professor T. receives some troubling news from home. 

As the Chool Bus rolled past Glenwood Springs, Professor T. was seen staring at his phone with the troubled countenance of someone coping with exceedingly bad news… a death in the family or something equally nasty. “Are you ok,” asked Jack noticing Professor T.’s expression?

“Oh, fine, i guess. I’m being summoned to join a Zoom conference next week… something about a Title IX inquest involving Abigail Weiser,” Professor T. frowned. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Something about instances of verbal and physical cringy conduct toward her. She’s retained the services of Scheizer and Bok and they’re filing a suit to recover punitive damages, for ‘egregious conduct’. What the hell? I have no idea what she’s talking about,” he sounded exhausted. “I’ll know more after the conference,” Professor T. looked crestfallen, but recovered composure presently and changed the subject not wanting to drag the general mood down.

“Let me know if there’s anything i can do. I’ll vouch for you,” Billie called from the driver’s seat. 

Buck Wellstone only caught fragments of the conversation… he was doom-scrolling social media, looking for funny memes to post to his news feed. “I don’t know why some people get worked up by casual office banter. It’s just good-natured jest,” he said to no one in particular. Buck’s upbringing was steeped in old-fashioned southern propriety and genteel manners, though he found it a little stifling. “All these constraining conventions keeping the ladies down. Why not encourage an atmosphere of mutual frankness,” he mused under his breath. “It ain’t hurt’n nobody… give a little, get a little. Stand up for yourself… do no harm, take no guff.” Words to live by, thought Buck as he scrolled through the endless kaleidoscope of distractions the tiny glowing screen shoveled his way.

As the highway 40 miles rolled by, Rifle, Meeker, Dinosaur Colorado, then Vernal Utah, into the Ouray Reservation, then finally, Billie steered the Chool Bus into Park City, settling into a “park & ride” center where the Forks and Buck checked out electric bike rentals for an afternoon of sightseeing and lunch among the bougie locals.

It was the city of Robert Redford’s Sundance Film Festival held annually in the height of ski season. “The Greatest Snow on Earth”, goes the promotional slogan. Of course Jack, being a die-hard Kanorado native, would take issue with the brag. He had always preferred the more relaxed feel of places like Winter Park or the night skiing slopes in Keystone’s off the beaten path Summit County resort. Billie was partial to the bougies of Vail and Aspen, but had to admit for some reason Mother Nature was partial to Park City as she often gifted Utah’s slopes with fresh powder on the regular. “It’s all the same to me,” grumbled Professor T. as he was partial to warmer climates. “June in the Utah mountains suits me just fine… shall we find some fine culinary treats?” All agreed and they pointed their rented bikes toward the Après-ski resort district.  

Buck did some Googlin’ and concluded the closest eligible spot was just off Main Street on 7th. And so, the gang gathered at the High West Saloon for some locally distilled cheer and swanky vittles. They got there in time to line up at 11:30am local time to get ahead of the lunch rush, but the crowd had already beat them to the punch. The host told them there would be a 15-20 minute wait for a table of four, so the Forks stepped back, opened their phones, and commenced some down-time scrolling.   

Jack, taking his customary scan of the room, looking for potential escape routes should the relaxed atmosphere turn chaotic, turned his attention to patrons, making a game with himself to spot signs of “bougie-tude”, where conspicuous consumption, pretentious displays of wealth, and a dearth of self-awareness reigns. “Check out the incoming party,” addressing no one in particular. “It looks like a ‘Mean Girls’ movie entrance.” Jack was watching the one clearly in the lead, a “Queen Bee” type, regaling tavern patrons with her “total awesomeness”. She was clearly in command of a platoon of bougie ladies on the loose. They pulled up in one of those enormous party limos, most likely commissioned for one of those “girls gone wild” celebrations needing no special occasion. Each decked in at least several hundred dollars in footwear alone. “There we go,” said Jack. “There’s the bougie circus we came to witness.”

Billie flashed a side eye at Jack as the incoming party was escorted to a prime table instantly, strutting by the Forks without a glance. “I’m sure they had a reservation,” said Billie. She wasn’t bothered about the wait. “Next time we’ll call ahead.” 

“Did you see the rock on the tall one,” said Jack. “I wonder if it’s real?”

“Hard to tell,” Professor T.’s uncle was a jeweler who had at one time invited him to an apprenticeship in his main street store front business. He knew about lab grown diamonds, that they can cost up to 95% less for the same quality. “Yikes, if it’s real, it’s very expensive,” his shoulders dropped as he suppressed a look of awe.   

“You know, there’s no such thing as a Bourgeoisie any more,” said Jack. “The middle class has been effectively flushed down the toilet of globalism. It’s all about the uber-rich now. But they don’t hold sway over small town culture like the Bourgeoisie used to. In fact, they don’t even know what small towns even are any more. There’s the Yacht Class, the Laptop class, the Struggle-Bus class, and the Doomed.” Jack took another scanning assessment of the wild-girl party. “If you wanna rebrand the Yachtsters, who am i to argue? That said, we’ve certainly picked a perfect spot for bougie watching.”

Professor T. was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the trajectory of this exchange when, just in time, the host led the Forks and Buck to their table. “So, did you notice that guy at the register at our last fuel stop? He paid for the coffee and biscuit for the guy behind him. It’s moments like those that remind me humanity is fundamentally designed for selfless cooperation. These pay it forward acts, no matter how small, create ripple effects that can have big results… think ‘butterfly effect.’”

Jack scoffed. “Oh, please. He didn’t buy breakfast, he bought a social ego-boost, virtue-signaling. He probably checked the window reflection to see if he looked saintly while doing it.”

Billie looked at Jack with pinched grin, “I think we’re overthinking a mundane transaction. If he wants to spend eight dollars to feel good, and the guy behind him gets a free meal, it’s a net gain. I don’t care if his heart is made of gold or recycled plastic… the math works out.” 

Professor T.’s pay-it-forward assessment put Jack in a cynical mood, “Altruism is just a sophisticated way of tricking our brains into feeling superior so we don’t have to face the fact that we’re all just hairless apes competing for resources. And that boulder on Ms Bougie’s finger is the Yacht Class version of hickies… just so much territorial pissings. See, that’s the problem, this ‘net gain’ nonsense ignores the reality of the jungle. If you spend your life looking for ‘ripples of kindness,’ you’re going to get drowned by the first person who marks you as a soft target. Self-interest isn’t ‘evil’… it’s honest. At least i know where i stand with a selfish person.”

Professor T. persisted. “That seems like a lonesome way to live, Jack! If we only look out for ourselves, the ‘jungle’ becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Altruism isn’t about being a ‘target’… it’s about courage. It’s the choice to be the light in a dark room. When we give without expecting anything back, we tap into something higher than biology.” 

“‘Giving without expecting anything back’ is how you end up bankrupt and burnt out,” said Jack. “I’m all for helping people, but i have a hard boundary. I’ll help you change a tire, but i’m not giving you my car. My rule is simple… do no harm, but take no shit. If ‘altruism’ requires me to be a martyr, i’m opting out.”

Billie wasn’t going to let Mork T. get steam rolled while waiting for drinks to arrive, and though Jack usually plays the synthesis role in these occasional dialectics, she decided to reverse roles keeping the new guy (Buck) guessing. “You know, i’m a regular contributor to the local food bank because i couldn’t live with myself if i didn’t. Maybe that is a ‘biological trick,’ Jack, but if the trick helps me feed a hungry child, i’m happy to be fooled. Isn’t a world where we try to be good… even for ‘selfish’ reasons… better than a world where we stop trying altogether?”

“Like the Buddha says, there’s always a middle way.” ~ Jack Dean

Just then the bougie wild girls ordered another round of margaritas contributing to a festive air when the Forks’ food arrived. The tequila was setting a new lunchtime pace for the room, and it was kinetic. In the din, Billie turned to Buck Wellstone. “You’ve been kind of quiet, Buck. What do you think about this selfishness vs altruism lunch-banter?” Billie winked and smiled, giving Buck permission to chime in.

“Well, there was this widow i knew in Laramie. She was known in the county as someone who’d move a turtle off the road to save its shell. She lived by a simple creed… keep your heart soft, but your spine like spindly oak. She spent her days tending a productive garden and leaving jars of honey for neighbors in need, never raising her voice or looking for a fight. She treated everyone with a quiet, steady kindness, believing that peace wasn’t just a feeling, but a practice you had to protect.” Buck paused to enjoy some of his sandwich and the gang let him off the hook as they dug in as well.

When everyone was wiping the last crumbs from their lips, Buck resumed his story. “The widow’s peace was tested when a developer from Cheyenne tried to bully her into selling her patch for a bougie golf course and club. When his bribes failed, he turned to legal threats and trespassing, assuming a woman who talked to marigolds would be an easy mark. The widow didn’t flinch… she simply handed him a folder proving the land was a protected sanctuary and calmly informed him that her lawyer was already ahead of his next move. She told him plain… “I don’t believe in causing hurt, but don’t mistake my silence for weakness… a hornet’s nest is perfectly peaceful right up until you poke it.” The developer cleared out by sunset, realizing that while the widow wouldn’t start a war, she was more than prepared to end one.

“And there you have it,” cried Billie over the din of the wild bougie girls. 

“You could take a cue from Buck’s Laramie widow,” Jack was looking at Professor Thompson. They (Billie and Jack) knew good ol’ Mork T. was prone to assume the best from everyone he meets. “Like the Buddha says, there’s always a middle way.”

That night, in his sleeping birth, Professor T. reread the email from home. He had known Abigail for many years, and he thought they had come to an accord regarding their relationship. He knew she had carried a torch for him in the beginning, but believed that was all water under the bridge. He was soon to find out how badly he was mistaken.

NEXT WEEK:
We learn a bit of Buck Wellstone’s back story and Professor T.’s Zoom Conference provides more questions than answers.

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