Things have been very strange this holiday season. I was getting gas over at the base yesterday- the filler cap for the Panzer is, as is Mercedes style, on the right rear flank of the vehicle. Most American cars have them on the left.
There were vehicles in modest lines to accommodate the Lefties, and a moderate wait. I didn’t want to waste my time- I am a thorough-going Washingtonian, after all, and mentally thanked the engineers in Stuttgart for giving me an opportunity to save a few minutes in a busy day.
I was wondering why engineers world-wide did not place the gas tank in the middle of the vehicles somehow so you could fill from either side? Didn’t the gas cap used to be on a hinge under the license plate?
Did someone decide that was a safety hazard? Some anonymous official at the NTSB maybe?
This being a military gas station, the lanes are clearly marked as one way. I was pulling in to the left side of a row of pumps when I looked up and saw a young couple in one of those souped-up little Japanese cars (Fast and Furious style) headed in, straight for my grill, going the wrong way.
I grimaced. The way ahead was blocked by the Honda, and after I filled the tank I would have to back up, or be trapped until the driver got his gasoline and backed up himself.
I gestured at him, pointing ahead, and said “One Way!” I did not add “Dumb ass,” a shred of civility to which I am trying desperately trying to cling. Honestly.
I did not roll down the window and scream at him, nor did I use any of my digits to add emphasis and signify my displeasure.
To my mild surprise, the young man backed up and actually went around to get in line on the proper side of the pump. I wondered if I would find the Panzer with a long key slash down the side while I was in the Class Six store getting more vodka, lime and tonic.
Driving away, I wondered at why my irritation was so profound. This was just a kid without knowledge of proper procedure, and who, with a little guidance, did the right thing. Why am I feeling that bubbling edge of dissatisfaction so often these days on the eve of the Season of Joy?
The traffic thing is always bad here. I actually flinch on the drive down to the farm when I see cars with Maryland or District plates, since I can be reasonably sure that something unexpected is going to happen. It could be a simple matter of being glued in the passing lane with passing anyone, or performing unexpected and un-signaled lane-changes. Dangerous. Heightened vigilance required.
There is a lot of that going around.
I have always viewed drivers from those jurisdictions with suspicion- sort of like seeing a car with Diplomatic plates and knowing with a fair amount of specificity that the driver neither knows the rules of the road nor has any inclination to follow them even if they did.
Anyway, on the trip back to the office I wondered why I was reacting the way I did. Is it election hang over? All that divisive bile spewed over the last year was corrosive, and it has not stopped yet though the campaign is long gone. Honesty was one of the first casualties, and I am afraid that is long gone, too. I can’t think of anyone on either side, with the possible exception of that Ron Paul loon, who was being straight with us.
Was it the fall-out of the shooting in Sandy Hook? I can’t get past the fact that an irresponsible and sick young man had so scarred the lives of innocent kids, their families, and the appointment of Smokin’ Joe Biden appointed to figure out a way to make us all safe with a host of new far-ranging initiatives.
There are two things we could do right away. Ban extended magazines is one, and the other is to address the way mental illness is treated in this nation. Oh, maybe a third. Putting a big sign up that says you are a “gun free zone” might not be working out quite the way we thought. Somebody properly vetted and trained on the property to respond to the mass murderer might have been a good thing. Honestly, think it through. Why do the killers go to places that they know there can be no resistance?
But the mental health thing is so painful.
There was a note in the electronic mail from my pal Joe about the stress and financial burden of raising a child with profound autism. It is a burden that never ends. I remember when his son was born, and the revelation of his illness. Now he is 24, a strapping young man who will never get better.
They are saying this morning that the Shooter’s mother, the first to die, was about at the end of her rope in trying to single-parent a very sick child, and was on the verge of sending him away.
I count my blessings that my own sons have grown up tall and strong, and I feel guilty about my good fortune. There is so much that is so wrong that it is almost unbearable.
I need to get over it and get with the spirit of the season. I think I remember what it is. I will give it a try.
Honestly.
Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com