Cynicism

The first time he came across the word cynical was when as an early teenager he first listened to The Logical Song, that lovely little tune by Supertramp. There's a verse in the lyrics that goes: And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable, clinical, intellectual, cynical. Back then the meaning of the word escaped him. The word lay dormant for years until one day in his mid twenties a friend of him happened to pull it out from oblivion. It was on a Saturday late at night in a crowded club and both held a glass of bourbon. It was then when his friend made the passing remark that holding a glass of bourbon is something a cynic would do. There was the word again, half-enigmatic still yet definitely looking powerful and half-inviting. He was now in his late forties and exercises in cynicism had gone on pouring ever more frequently into the events that shaped his daily life, raining down on him at the most unexpected of occasions and from the most unexpected of people. The meaning was now fully obvious, the power of the word still undeniable, yet its appeal forever lost. Cynicism was a concept he had learned to understand to despise. Thankfully, he managed to remain mostly out of reach of cynics, kept them sufficiently out of range to minimise the impact they could have on him. Large-scale cynicism belonged to planes alien to him, those occupied by politicians, executive boards of corporate groups, cardinals, stock investors, assorted criminals and the like. Ordinary men like him had just become accustomed to read about cynicism being staged daily in such settings. To everyone's shame it was even socially accepted. But it was hopeless to remain unaffected when every once in a while cynicism sprouted at his side, spreading an enduring stench, splashing him in the face like drops of slime. It always came from someone he had thus far regarded as honest and straight, someone he could never imagine would resort to blatant self-interest to justify his shady deals. Someone, too, whom he would have to keep on greeting everyday at work, not having the guts to call it quits, amazed at the (admittedly cynical) ways cynics always have of looking as if butter would not melt in their mouths, all smiles and cheerfulness, as if every single one of their evil deeds should always be justified, approved or validated, as if nothing they might scheme could ever really lead to demand their punishment. That was not a negligible bit among the various oppressing him on this issue, his own lack of courage to confront such disgusting, dirty chaps.