On The Turning Away: Narcissism & Moral Righteousness in Elephant Architecture

My good friend, and roommate freshman year in college came to visit recently. He is finally sober, and on the propper meds, and it was literally one of, if not, the best visit I have had with him since maybe even freshman year. We decided to do something different, from my/usual Mexican joint downtown, and try some Indian food. Upon arriving, we sort of needed to adjust. The set-up is a bit confusing. They have a cash register with a sign that says Order Here even though it looks like a dining room where a server takes your order. It is the lunch bar, all you can eat, and I know from experience there that one portion is vegetarian. I asked the “server” which was again vegetarian, and he points, and showed me the vegetarian options. There is a particular recipe I remember I really liked, but I can never remember which one it is, and so I start with one plate, and sample each option with some rice in the center. My buddy, and I sit down, and begin eating. It is like the Cafe in college all over again, and we begin talking, and laughing about books, and history sort of with a Monty Python outlook on historical incidents. I Ora I Kali, or the times are good. I find the two favourite samples, and return to fill another plate with a spicey-ish curry, and vegetable sauce, and a delicious mushroom soup-like option, more rice, and some breaded, fried cauliflower. Delicious. We continue talking about US politics in the landscape of Alexander’s conquering of the known world (to us). We talk about good films we’ve seen, or plan to. We talk about Marvel, and Disney, martial arts flicks from the 90’s, and how we miss that gritty, grungey style of anime from the 80’s, and 90’s like Ghost In A Shell, or Akira. I mentioned a film I saw on Tubi called Election about Triad Gang Warfare, but there are no guns, and they massacre each other with swords. Ah, the good ole days. I sort of peck at my food. I don’t like to get too full all at once even though I love to eat healthy food. We prefer to elongate the eating experience, taking time to chew correctly, and not over filling the stomach. He has a master’s in BioChem, and I have just finished many classes in Biology; specifically health related Biology like Anatomy & Physiology. As we are finishing, we decide how to pay the check, and the server who I had asked about the vegetarian options comes to our table. He is Indian with an accent. I stack my dishes to make it easier for him to bus. I picked this up working for an Extended Stay Home2 Suites by Hilton. He seems to have an irritable chip on his shoulder as usual from the younger generation. If he wasn’t Gen Z he was on the cusp of it. He decides to inform me self-righteously, sort of, well basically how the restaurant would prefer that I didn’t waste so much food when I ate there. It was a $20 lunch buffet. But, there it is. He was better than me. He was superior to me at that moment. He was Albert Camus’ Absurd Hero. The Hero of the Absurd. As he walked away, I immediately turned to my pal, and said, “If I had stuffed it all down, he would have said, The Restaurant should prefer that you mustn’t be a glutton here”. I am a server in this town too, and have the opposite problem where I am disgusted with the obesity, and watching the guests grotesquely shove buckets of food into a fist sized stomach. It’s almost like watching them rape their own organs. We pay our respects, and at the cash register, I try to break the awkward tension the server created by reaching back, grabbing my foot at the register, and performing the expert yoga posture called The Royal Dancer. I pull my foot up, behind my back, and above my head; other arm extended outward forward. The Statue of Buddha glistens in the doorway, and we leave.

We continue on our day as old friends. We walk down to the River Walk past campus. We sit at some picnic tables overlooking a creek, in front of a Wall that looks similar to the Pink Floyd Album. We discuss factory farming, and vegetarianism. I bring up an article I have read about the factory farming industry attempting to make it illegal to film what goes on inside, and that is because we are a morally righteous species. And that the average consumer could not feel morally righteous about eating meat from factory farms if they knew the conditions the animals were raised in, and the science behind pumping the chickens full of hormones, and antibodies. My buddy isn’t full of vegetarianism, however, he is aware. He is mindful that the chicken on his plate did not have a happy life. It was forced to pump out 20 times more eggs than it would if it were in nature.

We continue on our day, and talk, and talk, and talk about books we’ve read, and books we want to read. It is so nice to have my buddy back. He is one of the only friends I have who have delved as deeply into literature as I/we have. But, still, the experience with the server lingers in my mind, and I think about it for days now. I have spoken to other vegetarians (my new sister-in-law, and little brother specifically) about how just asking for vegetarian options makes folks upset. But why? I never told you (him) what to eat. I only asked for my own preferences, and choices. And I believe I came to a realization. We are a morally righteous species. When I asked for vegetarian options, the server was no longer the most morally righteous person in the room. It hurt his ego, and he had to find something I did, and point it out in order to make himself feel more morally righteous than myself; though that is not the reason I became a vegetarian. I did it for the health benefits, and my yoga practice, though animal cruelty, and climate change being the perks, or side dishes to my choices.

On The Turning Away

How Humanity Is Failing One Of Its Greatest Moral Tests