Up on the pedestal you go

Today I rediscovered a masterpiece. Before we continue, you have to read A&P, the classic short story by John Updike. It’s about a young man named Sammy who works at a grocery store in what seems like the 50s. He’s working at the store when three girls walk in, and immediately, he’s smitten with one of them. He quits his job to try to impress her, but it doesn’t work. You can, and should, read it here.

OK, you read it?

No seriously, you read it, right?

OK. That essay is the greatest short story I’ve ever read. It has no competition. A&P is a masterpiece, a work of art.

There’s humor:

• “If she'd been born at the right time they would have burned her over in Salem.”

• “When my parents have somebody over they get lemonade and if it's a real racy affair Schlitz in tall glasses with ‘They’ll Do It Every Time’ cartoons stenciled on.”

The imagery is so great:

• “The whole store was like a pinball machine and I didn’t know which tunnel they’d come out of.”

• “All of a sudden I slid right down her voice into her living room.”

And of course, there are three girls, because there’s balance in asymmetry. I don’t know if I would be attracted to Queenie if I saw her in real life, but the way Updike describes her, I wouldn't bet against it.

But why did this short piece stick with me for so long, even though I couldn’t remember the name or most of the details? The theme. More than just the style, which is excellent, this piece has a profound theme.

When I first read it eight years ago in a freshman English class, I felt a kind of secondhand sadness—a lethargic sense of longing, like when you’re a kid in the middle of August, and you're bored. You’re lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling fan, bits of dust flitting in the evening sun, cicadas buzzing outside, and you’re wondering where the summer went, and you’re wishing for that time back.

Reading it again, I expected to feel that regret, that longing for opportunities gone by. I remembered that the main character, Sammy, blew it with a cute girl he met in a store. When we feel those pangs of regret, it's because of something we wish we had done differently.

As such, I expected to get a kind of behavioral lesson when I re-read A&P—act faster, Sammy!—a takeaway for myself and every other man who hesitates in the presence of beautiful women (which is to say, at one point or another, all men). Guys, just move your feet, and then your mouth. Simple. Take your chance with her, or you’ll live to regret it. Sammy, if you’d just been a little quicker, a little smoother in that checkout line, you might have made an impression on that girl before Loogie could interfere. That was the lesson I was expecting, and it was the one I wanted to hear.

Instead I was clubbed over the head with a different, deeper lesson. Maybe this other lesson is why I was suddenly, inexplicably compelled to dig for the essay in the first place. I had been in a pretty good work flow and had no reason to stop. Maybe this other lesson connected with me subconsciously, which is why A&P lingered in my long-term memory for so long. Maybe it was only now, after a few more years of life experience, that I could see the bigger picture.

Somehow I missed the big picture eight years ago, but I saw it as a neon flashing sign today.

Sammy calls the third girl “Queenie”—really? You don't even know her.

He speculates about her family’s lavish lifestyle—dude, you’ve seen her once. Why are you focusing on her so much? You realize she’s a person, too, one who poops every day, right? He quit his job to try to impress a complete stranger!

The lesson of A&P isn’t to fall head over heels in love with someone and then to summon the courage to be smooth around them. It’s about having the courage to not put someone on a pedestal, especially someone you don’t even know. It’s a critique of “love at first sight.” Of course the girls were gone as soon as Sammy stepped outside. They were gone as soon as he took off his apron. They had to be.

Authority-defying, apron-flying Sammy is reckless with his employment. In the same situations, we are reckless with our emotions. It’s youthful idealism. To most people, it’s not attractive.

It’s not attractive because we infantilize ourselves when we do this. When we put someone on a pedestal in our minds, we may as well put them on an actual platform in real life and raise them far above us. They say it’s lonely at the top. It’s probably also exhausting to look down at someone the whole time.

This dynamic is similar to the way our parents seem like superheroes when we’re kids. When you get a bit older, the illusion is shattered. Of course you still love your mom, but you realize she can’t fix every boo-boo. Of course you still love your dad, but you realize he is not literally the strongest person on Earth. Do we want our romantic relationships to be like parent–child relationships? No.

But I’m not going to be too harsh. It’s not wrong to put someone on a pedestal. It just isn’t wise.

And how do we gain wisdom? By learning from our mistakes.

So, to any woman I’ve put on a pedestal in the past, just know that I’m working on it. In my defense, the way you opened that jar of pickles was really impressive.