The Apolitical Purchase

It’s a relief to do something ordinary like shop for a refrigerator, because you know it can’t possibly get political. The salesperson isn’t going to open the fridge doors and say, “That plastic odor you detect will air out, much like the fetid stench of the Oval Office after Trump’s gone,” or some such polarizing remark. He’s like a car salesman, except he never pats the side of the fridge and says, “What’s it going to take to get you into this fridge?” Well, chloroform, for starters.

Yes, everyone should shop for major appliances now and then, just to leave behind our fractious political cacophony! Just kidding. Everything is political. Tell people you’re looking at a new fridge, and you’ll start an argument.

Example No. 1. Let’s pretend I’m telling Bernie Sanders about my plans. He would wave his arms and get angry, I expect.

“No! One! Should have a 32-cubic-foot refridguhratuh when there are people who don’t have a place to put their lettuce! And I’m not saying it has to be lettuce, it could be aruguhluh. We got lots of salad greens. And that’s a good thing! But you have people who have walk-in coolers that are bigger than the jail cells where we put people who have done nothing wrong but sell some marijuana, and when I am president I will make sure that the government helps minorities, African Americans, Hispanics to get small-business loans so they can sell marijuana instead of the coh-poh-rations, so they don’t go to jail. Because that’s unfair.”

When it is pointed out that Sanders owns three fridges, he barks, “Yes I do and I’ll tell you what I like about it, they got ice that comes outta the door and that’s better than ICE coming through your door, which is what we have now with this administration.”

The result, in his first term, is an executive order that places a Refrigerator Excess Capacity Surtax on fridges over 23 cubic feet in size. Consumers respond by underreporting the actual amount of fridge space they have, which leads to nationwide inspection of all kitchens and severe penalties for those who have evaded the tax. Often the fridges are cut in half on the spot and hauled off to under-chilled communities; when these broken, useless fridges do not solve fridge inequality, Sanders calls for a 50 percent tax on Häagan-Dasz and other premium ice creams. (Ben and Jerry’s protests the tax and is nationalized soon after.)

Eventually Sanders uses the Green New Deal to ban all fridges, replacing them with iceboxes, trumpeting the creation of a network of carbon-neutral ice trucks pulled by horses, and the many new jobs available in the iceman, or IcePerson, field. The nation becomes reacquainted with the icepick as a standard tool in the drawer. The Sanders reelection campaign sells an ice pick called the “Trotsky” on its website; informed that the Communist was actually murdered with an ice axe, Sanders says, “Pick, axe, I think Leon got the point.”

Example No. 2. The fridge has Wi-Fi, by the way. It has internal cameras that let you see what you have. Tell that to the TechBro Privacy Scolds and you get an argument as well:

“Seriously, dude, an Internet-connected fridge? You’re asking for Big Tech to snoop on your cheese preferences. You’re, like, giving away your information to the Cheddar–Industrial Complex, and they’re so stupid and lax there’ll be a breach, and all someone has to do is go on the Dark Web and there it is, you like it sharp, not mild.”

Example No. 3. Vegans, if they are the insufferable sort, will object if the salesperson says, “This is the meat drawer,” since that (a) suggests a carno-normative worldview that excludes and erases the shared, lived experiences of the plant-based community and (b) spoils the fridge forevermore, since the taint of hypothetical meat can never be forgotten.

This does not work the other way. The meat-eater is not offended if the salesperson says, “This drawer keeps your vegetables crisp,” since that means there could conceivably be vegetables in the fridge, and that’s good! In fact, just having the drawer is a great start for healthier eating.

“It also keeps bacon crisp, too? No? Well, no harm in asking.”

Example No. 4. The free trader might not argue. He’d say, “Aren’t you glad you can get this amazing piece of technology for a reasonable price? The benefits of globalism!”

You: Yes, that’s nice, but on the other hand, I do hate driving by the long-abandoned refrigerator factory at the end of town.

“It’s got a 4K finger-print-resistant touchscreen that instantly displays your family photos!”

Yes, that’s nice, but those were good jobs, and provided a good middle-class life for many—

“It’s got sensors that send you a text message when the milk’s 24 hours from its expiration date, and you can’t get that kind of price point and full suite of features when you’re paying union wages!”

Got it, but the hollowing out of industrial regions had a profound effect—

“Did I mention . . . built in fast-chiller for white wine?”

Yeah, but—say, free delivery and haul-away of the old one? Yes? Okay, I’ll take it. I’m still troubled, although that will quickly fade, leave me with no lasting lessons about industrial policy, and be replaced by the peevish whines of the effete elite when I’m at the store trying to remotely log into my fridge and the app crashes.

Well, that’s progress. I suppose I could just use a paper notebook—or what we’ll call an “app” after socialism wrecks the power grid.