What Do I Know?

Isn't it always the case where you know the right answer, but don't want to tell someone because you'll hurt their feelings, no matter how incorrect they might be? I was getting my haircut yesterday, and while my stylist was buzzing away the untidy mess on the sides of my head, the stylist on the other side of the mirror was prattling on about the weather to the woman in his chair, adding his own mess to the world.

"Well, it's tough in this heat.” He sighed. “All this AC. It's not good for us."

"Oh, yeah," the woman said, the way one does when they're held captive. You could tell that her heart wasn't in it.

He continued. "It's not good for our skin or our lungs, the way it removes all the moisture from the air." He spoke with the confidence of someone who's rarely ever challenged, who rarely ever has to defend the inane things they say. He spoke like a small time mob boss. Or a hairdresser.

The woman in the chair had been through this before. Maybe not with him, but with someone else, and she knew the game. She knew what to say when, and when to look up from her phone with a shocked look on her face. This was not one of those moments yet. She knew he had a soapbox to step up to, and paced her responses appropriately. "Mmm hmm."

"That's why when I'm not at home, I let mine go up to 78 degrees. If you let the air conditioner rest during the day it'll work better at night. All these people who leave theirs running during the day...it just makes it harder for the AC to work at night."

Her legs shifted under the table. "I know, right?"

Neither of those things were true, but what was I to do? I couldn't just barge in and explain how physics works. Mostly because I don't know. But also because it would have been rude.

Yesterday I took Bailey for a walk. A woman passed me and sighed. "102 degrees out. Can you believe it?" she asked. "It's a record!"

It was 102 degrees out, and it did beat a record. But one from the 1800s. Don't you always kind of look at records like that with suspicion?  Did we even have thermometers back then? Or did we divine the temperature through prayer?

I looked back at where I'd just stepped and saw a fresh shoe print in the melted tar. "Oh, is it that hot?" I said. "With this breeze I was getting a bit chilly."

She ignored the joke and continued, barely audible from behind her mask. "She's gotta be so hot! With all that fur it's like wearing a mink coat!" She pointed at Bailey as if I wasn't sure exactly whom she meant by "with all that fur."

I didn't know why she was wearing a mask but I've stopped wondering or minding. It's 2025, and thankfully you don't see them too often, but every now and then I'll see someone wearing one. I used to grumble to myself, thinking the wearer to a total moron. Like that Japanese soldier who was on the island for 30 years and didn't know The War had ended. I used to want to shake them. "You fool! Haven't you heard? It's over? We won!"

But a few of the 600 people in my building still wear masks, not for COVID reasons, but medical. They have or have had cancer and are undergoing chemotherapy. They're immunocompromised and the occasional wince or subtle mockery is a small price to pay for not dying from catching a common cold. After talking to them, I've stopped judging. It's easy to judge when you think they're stupid. But when it's for survival, it's harder to be an asshole.

"I brush her every day," I lied. "It's a lot of work." She didn't notice that Bailey's fur was a matted mess, having not been brushed in months.

"Does she have water?" She asked.

And right then, I wished I could sneeze into her mask. Does she have water? I wanted to say. She did, but she dropped her canteen a few miles back when we were running from the sandstorm. It was the darnest thing. The harness I force her to wear, the heavy one with three water bottle holsters—one for her and two for me—just slid right off, what with her losing so much weight in this heat. Oh, look at that. It's almost time for her midday sprints. What did she think this was, a company march?

I know she told herself she was trying to be nice. I'm sure she thought it was better to err on the side of caution and check whether this man on the street with a fluffy Pomeranian in the 102 degree heat had water than to walk by minding her own business.

But I didn't want to get into it. I didn't want to say "no, I don't have water because, do you see that door not 20 feet away? That's our front door. Beyond that is air conditioning and bottomless ice water." I didn't want the conversation to go further. Because I knew where it would go. So I just gave her a nice smile and said, "It's a five minute walk."

"Oh thank goodness," she said. "My dog just died and I couldn't bear to have that happen to anyone else."