By Craig P. Dixon, southcoast247.com correspondent Social Commentary 93
January 9th, 2007
You know. Many times I'm horrified when pondering the meaning of human
existence. Especially when looking at the world with the wide-angle lens.
Seriously. Just what the hell is the meaning of all these Dunkin' Donuts?
Why the same Ben Stiller/Will Ferrell/Owen Wilson movies every couple
months? The great battles for PS3's, Nintendo Wii's, the sands of the Sudan,
and the hearts and minds of men...just what does it all mean?
And why is everyone in such a goddamned rush to find out?
Recently, I decided to slow things down a bit. Drive 65 instead of 80. Cut
down from 2 large coffees a day to one. Walk, instead of run, to get
something at work. Think things over a bit before slapping snappy fools
across the mouth. Listen to classical music on public radio. All in an
effort to sit back, reflect, and savor things.
And take my blood pressure down a couple notches.
Early signs were promising. Within a week, my gas mileage went up 3 miles
per gallon. After a few days of withdrawals, I was drinking water in place
of that second coffee. People didn't seem to care if it took me a minute or
two more to grab that boot at work. And if I did get called a fucking
asshole for not accepting a returned item, I wouldn't make a snappy reply
and offer to take the dispute outside. Rather, I'd mention calmly that
making a scene and calling me an asshole wasn't going to change things, but
it would get you kicked out of the store.
But the blood pressure hasn't gone down. Nor has it leveled out. It's
skyrocketed.
Because while I'm driving 65 down 195 in the right lane, I've got dickheads
flashing their high beams at me to get out of their way because I'm going
too slow.
I shit you not, my dear reader. This hasn't happened once, but multiple
times. And the few times someone pulled into the left lane to pass me
(because I refuse to move), I received a) a dirty look from the passing
driver, b) some wild gesticulation, or c) the one-finger salute along with
what looks like the mouthed words "Chuck Goo".
Me. Going the speed limit. Listening to Bach or Brahms or Mozart. Nodding my
head carefully as my pulse rises. Attempting to check my ire, and ultimately
failing as I tap the brake to disengage the cruise control and stomp on the
gas. The turbocharger immediately responds and within seconds I'm cruising
at 100 miles an hour, flying past those dipshit morons that caused this
reaction. Not turning from the road to flip them off. Not refraining from
hammering down until I'm pulling into my drive and stomping toward the door.
Ready to tear even the cat's head off for the slightest offence.
And then I stop, breathe the mild night air, and ask myself: Just why the
hell is everybody in such a goddamned rush to get nowhere?
I swear. Someday, it's going to kill us.
You know. Many times I'm horrified when pondering the meaning of human
existence. Especially when looking at the world with the wide-angle lens.
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