I recently had the opportunity to relive a fly-fishing adventure I greatly enjoyed years ago on the Kenai River in Alaska. For those who are not familiar with the Kenai River, it is perhaps the single best rainbow trout and salmon fishery anywhere in the world. Before succumbing to a nasty bout of Covid (more on that later), the fishing and the camaraderie I experienced among the guys in our group was great . . . except for Scott.
I recognized Scott for what he was almost immediately: a sarcastic, self-absorbed, narcissistic, obnoxious blowhard. I’m not sure what it is exactly about guys like him, they just give off a certain vibe that telegraphs their true character even before their behavior verifies it. In Scott’s case, he showed his colors the very first day.
First, some background . . . fishing etiquette (and common courtesy) dictates that when fishing in a group, you rotate the selection of spots on the drift boat and also when fishing from shore so that everyone has an equal opportunity to fish the most desirable locations during the day. It is also expected that when a buddy has a fish on, anyone who does not have a fish on will drop their rod, pick up a net, and assist in landing the fish. This selfless act should be done in good humor because helping someone else experience the joy of landing a good fish should be almost as enjoyable as catching one yourself . . . to a normal person, that is. Predictably, Scott did not recognize these social niceties, or at least he did not feel they applied to him.
Instead, Scott would immediately grab the most desirable position on the boat before we pushed off. When we periodically landed the boat to fish a gravel bar, Scott would immediately leap out and haul ass to the best spot at the head of the run, and that is where he would remain, engaging others only to comment on the size and number of fish he was catching or to request someone to net a fish for him. But while Scott expected others to assist him landing his fish, he was often conveniently too far away or otherwise occupied to return the favor. When we eventually reboarded the boat to continue down river, Scott would repeat the entire sequence, all the time offering unsolicited advice to everyone . . . about everything. Cliff Clavin in waders.
On the third day of my planned week in Alaska, I came down with a bad case of Covid that I had apparently acquired on the 5-hour flight from Denver to Anchorage. I would like to pause here to recognize the hacking, vaccine-denying, MAGA goober who sat in the seat next to me for his assistance in this part of the story. Recognizing I could not endanger the trip for everyone else, I elected to quarantine myself in the basement of the house we had rented for the remainder of the week.
But while my fishing adventure was over, my 4 subsequent days of self-isolation gave me the opportunity to reflect on the experience. Specifically, it occurred to me that Scott represented the type of personality we have all met, and that some of us regrettably share ourselves.
If you’ve read my essay on fly fishing, then you know I avoid fishing with people who are there exclusively to catch fish. For them, it’s all about the size and number THEY catch. Everyone else is irrelevant. In fact, everyone else’s good luck is actually a bad thing because it represents a fish THEY could and should have caught. Celebrate someone else’s good luck and joy? Fuck no!
These are people who represent the score keepers of the world, people who know the price and/or quantity of everything, and the value and/or importance of nothing. These are people who keep a mental ledger of accounts. They know who owes and who is owed, and they mean to come out ahead.
There’s the guy who comes to the friendly poker game with the attitude that one might expect in a WSOP tournament. This guy is not there to have a few beers and a few laughs. Oh, no. He’s there to win money from his friends, and he is serious about it. “Shut up and deal, Alice!” “Could you play already?” “Why the hell do we have a limit on the number of bets?” “That bullshit would never be allowed in Vegas!” Yeah, THAT guy. He’s keeping score.
Another example is the serious (albeit, often not very competent) golfer. This guy is not there to chat, drink a couple beers, and spend time enjoying a beautiful setting on a gorgeous day with a pal. Oh, no. This guy plays every round like it’s Sunday at Augusta and he knows the RULES. “Mulligans? There ARE NO mulligans!” “Winter rules? Arranging the ball is a penalty!” “Hey, that was out of bounds!” “No, that is NOT a gimme!” Yeah, THAT guy. He’s keeping score, too.
I quickly discovered that academia is particularly full of score keepers. These are the folks that count grants and publications like Scrooge McDuck counts gold coins, and for the same reason: quantity. What was the grant for? “Can’t remember.” What was your role? “Not important.” Was the study ever completed? “It doesn’t matter.” Did the results lead to improving the lives of anyone? “WHO CARES?” And what about the publications? Did anyone read them? Did they effect any type of positive change? Did you even contribute in a meaningful way, or were you able to bully or coerce your way into co-authorship because of your position? “Again, WHO CARES, I’m getting numbers and that’s all that matters!” Oh yeah, they’re keeping score.
You can’t even escape the score keepers at Christmas. These people don’t see it as an opportunity to spend time with family and friends and be grateful for all the gifts we enjoy every day just by living on this planet where and when we do. They don’t see it as a season of giving. Oh, no. It’s about equity. It’s about getting MY share, and even coming out ahead on the whole deal. The idea of spending serious time and thought to select a gift they think is perfect for someone else is anathema to their entire concept of Christmas. No sir, it’s about volume, we need numbers! If there aren’t at least a half-dozen gifts from everyone to everyone, or if it takes less time to unwrap gifts than to watch “Miracle on 34th Street” then the whole thing is a bust.
I must briefly digress here to share how disappointed I was to learn how many people are completely transactional in their lives and relationships with others. Maybe I am hopelessly naïve, but I always believed the joy of giving a gift to someone was more than reward enough. The idea that every gift is given with the expectation of reciprocity just never occurred to me and seems completely antithetical to the whole point of giving a gift in the first place. If we’re going to expect in-kind reciprocity from the gifts we give then they’re not gifts, they’re just cynical investments from which we expect a return.
Look, it’s simple. If you are a gift giver, you should give freely and joyfully. If you are a gift receiver, you should accept graciously. In neither case should you expect reciprocity. Giving a gift does not constitute the creation of a debt or obligation on the part of the receiver. The same applies to favors, which are really just intangible gifts.
The quintessential example of score keepers, of course, are those who are obsessed with money. I really believe many of these miserable souls began their lives of compulsive acquisitiveness with at least a vague idea of what they wanted to do with the money they accumulated. But somewhere along the way they lost sight of that goal. But I also believe that some began with no other goal at all. From the beginning they just wanted to make money for the sake of making – and keeping – money. For them, money was never a means to an end. Money WAS the end.
Like Scrooge, people who are obsessed with making money are usually pathologically cheap. As Dickens observed, “a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner!” Paradoxically, the more money these avaricious misers have, the more financially insecure they seem to feel. Like the hopeless addict and his drug, there is never enough to satiate their craving because the hole they are trying to fill in themselves is one that cannot be filled by that with which they are trying to fill it. Among the score keepers of the world, I think they are the most pitiful.