In a recent conversation with a dear friend concerning the values of crusaders, I made an observation. Rare for me, yes, but we all get to have them some time or another. It was a conversation concerning the relative importance of various crusades -- like the numbwit who keeps turning me in for "code" violations because, f'rex, there are some dead palm fronds hanging from a tree in my yard. People who sweat the petty stuff. How blessed their lives must be if they can devote themselves to something relatively small in a world full of bad things.
I pondered, and opined:
Sometimes it is because they haven't really encountered the tough, horrid situations that occur with humanity and so focus their narrow attentions on what they DO see, and for which they have passion. Sometimes, though, it may be because they feel they have the tools to do something about this relatively small but wretched situation, and are nearly powerless regarding the more dire situations.
I can say that, though, because I can actually relate. No, not with the numbwit -- dead palm fronds are so not an issue for me.
I have large issues in my life that I cannot resolve. I just don't have the tools. Personal issues aside, I am also cognizant of world issues that I likewise cannot solve. I can squeak in frustration, but, really, I'm just a wee mousie in a trap that, should I contemplate it, would fill me with despair.
So, I rail against the things I can do something about.
Such as the total moron in the grocery store today, whom I shall name "Dorkbutt."
Dorkbutt is one of those extraordinarily annoying brainless idiots who just sort of wanders about with no clue concerning his immediate environment or the dangers therein. So it was that on three separate occasions I nearly rammed him with my shopping cart -- accidentally, although incident #3 was sorely tempting and it took all my moral strength to NOT just shove the thing into him. What makes this issue particularly grating, though, is that he is teaching his child, whom I shall name "Dingbat", that same reckless disregard. When Dingbat whipped around from the gumball machine she'd been licking to see Daddy Dorkbutt had already meandered out of the store, she charged at top speed in front of my heavily laden cart and raced out into the parking lot, directly in front of a car that was heading for a parking spot.
I screamed "YOU FUCKWIT WATCH YOUR CHILD!" at Dorkbutt, while the driver of the car slammed on her brakes and smacked her horn and Dingbat skipped merrily over to Daddy, who was just turning and gazing in a "huh" stupefaction at all the activity.
I tried to get his name and personal info so I could report him to the guys who go about lobbing off weenies. I don't think this moron should be permitted to create any other children.
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