ArchivedLogs:Suffering Sardines and Proletariat Pigs

Suffering Sardines and Proletariat Pigs
Dramatis Personae Chokechain, Melinda	2013-01-29 Superficial philosophy on the psychology of the species - and food.
Location A SupermarketGroceryStore
Melinda stops at a grocery store supermarket thing on the way home with some inspiration for dinner. She isn't stocking up, so she doesn't need a cart. She simply, slowly walks up and down the aisles examining the options and taking stock of their ingredients as well as their price. She is wearing her big rubber boots to keep her feet and the bottoms of her black slacks dry, and a red peacoat to keep the rest of her warm, no matter the weather. Since climate control in the store keeps every employee warm, she's unbuttoned the coat, explosing a plain white buttondown underneath. She smells strongly of coffee and caramelized milk. She draws in a deep breath as she pulls a small can of clams off the shelf and tilts her heat to one side reading the label. Chokechain, by comparison, is stocking up. His trolley doesn't have much in it as yet, but it's easy to see he's on target to spend large on luxuries. He is relying on his hat for anonymity, and doing a bad job of nonchalance. The partly open backpack in the trolley clearly has a cat lurking inside it, keeping as still as a fretting cat can. Melinda glances over at Chokechain as he moves down her aisle with a shopping cart. She makes an effort to figure out which way is best to dodge to give him the most polite space possible, and ends up, can still in hand, facing where it came from, waiting on his next move. Her eyes lower, as is habit to keep from the dreaded 'too much eye contact' when her gaze finds another pair of eyes inside the cart. "Huh." She glances toward the cat's chaffeur. "I've never seen a cat as a support creature before, but I guess it makes sense." The statement is somewhat spoke to the air, as her New York training has her attention quickly returned to her can of clams. Chokechain brakes and plants his feet. He's not sure what to make of her, and checks as best he can for a gun, a wire, a support team. "Support? As in, to make me feel better?" He thinks it over a bit, playing for time. "Damn," he concedes, "I thought I was doing him a favour." Melinda smiles brightly at that thought, her countenance lifting from the Manhattan gray. "Oh, well, it could be mutual. I have often felt that companion animals often get the raw end of the deal in being kept inside all of the time." She is not sporting a wire or weapon, unless one has an allergy to shellfish - even then, the sealed can is about as dangerous as leadcovered kryptonite. "Does he help you pick out your meals?" Chokechain's state of wariness goes down a notch, but only a notch. He looks at the backpack, as if considering for the first time that it might have feelings, and that troubles him. "If he did, I fear I would have to develop a taste for small and terrified things." "A hunter then? Good for him that he's kept that instinct. So many felines in this city wouldn't know what to do with a small thing if they caught one." Melinda moves back over to the shelf she got the clams from and replaces it. "I am sure they sell terrified things here; they've just been prepackaged beyond recognition as that." Her fingers play across the shelf until she finds a can of sardines. "Take these for instance. Can you imagine what they felt being yanked out of the water and slide through vicious machines until they were put into tiny little mass graves?" Chokechain likes that thought, and agrees with a smile and, "Awful." It's enough, apparently, to convince him on sardines. "There's this idea that we only truly care about a small number of people, and anyone out of that circle isn't really, well, real to us. Dunbar's number. And sardines most certainly don't make the cut." "Yeah, sardines are often ignored in the grand scheme of things. I - personally - am not a huge fan of the processing." Melinda puts the can back and finds a different can of clams to look over. "Cows are often too stupid. It's when people consider how smart pigs are that they start to feel their skin crawl with moral qualms. Should intelligence be the main factor? Or tastiness? Could humans really give up bacon? That is the real question." Chokechain flips a half dozen cans into his trolley. "You have a high opinion of humans if you think that those kind of considerations make it into their decisions. They can, they have before, so why not? It would take a push to change that." "Well, maybe I just talk to one too many stoners," Melinda agrees in her own way. She selects two cans of this brand clams and continues scanning the shelves. "And yes, bacon may be going away anyway, what with farmers less interested in raising the pigs." Chokechain says drily, "Call them philosophers; it's at least superficially more respectful. And things don't go away, the cost just changes." "Hmmm. Superficial philosophers. That definitely works." Melinda smiles once again and moves down the aisle a little to start perusing jars of pickled things, capers, olives and the sort. "You are correct though. Barring actual extinction, pigs aren't going anywhere and there will likely always be a way to get the rarer delicacies." She pauses, "Though, I am not sure where one can ger monkey brains these days, outside of Asia. Doesn't mean it's not available." Chokechain changes tack to go with her, keeping the cart at enough of a distance to signal they're temporarily aligned in their passage through the aisles. "Extinction," he breathes, and something about the way he says it shows it's a recurring word for him. "If they're miserable now -- pigs -- would it be kinder?" "It's a rather broad paintbrush to use to try and judge all pigs based off of the ones that are on farms or in factory farms. Do we opt for extinction just because we're shitty at taking care of them, or do we let them just go free and stop trying to take care of them?" Melinda gives Chokechain a small smile as she watches him follow, her caper considerations paused for the time being. "Opting for extinction includes the work of /finding/ them all, even in the wild, on deserted islands and the like." She draws a deep breath. "This doesn't touch on the concept of misery though. What is miserable in pig language? That itch to roam? Are they miserable with all of their meals fully provided?" Chokechain turns that over in his head, and ends up shaking it to clear it. "Trying to think like a pig," he says as if in explanation. "Myself, I would understand if they found it in themselves to fight back. There's something where there's enough history that noone would argue. Once," and he offers a small smile, "they got over the surprise." "Should we expect the rising of the Pig Revolutionaries? Animal Farm infringing upon our future?" Melinda considers this. "They are already known to be pretty terrible when humans fall into their pens, killing and eating them in fact, but I've only heard stories and don't know if that's a breed thing or if all pigs do it." Chokechain says, "Well, maybe not pigs. But, still. Those who fell must be outside my circle, because I only feel that they trespassed after sinning, and were punished for it." "Ah. Okay." There's a hint of confusion in Melinda's tone, but she covers it with a smile and a decision on the capers. "Well, trespassing on top of sinning is a pretty terrible thing." She nods to Chokechain as she slips her last bit of purchase into her bag. "Well, that's everything for me. Have a good night and I hope your companion gets to see a lot of the world he normally doesn't." She turns and waves as she heads away and down the aisle toward the register. Chokechain says, "I'll insist," by way of farewell. It's a bit later that he pulls the top of a sardine can and feeds the starving alleycat he had squirrelled away in the bag. "One time deal," he tells it, before letting it go.