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(Pre-Script: This post should be read as the song, "Going the Distance," #18 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)
(...still waiting...)
(...still waiting...)Yesterday, I was driving to work, and I don't even think I was speeding. I even remember consciously having that thought, "I am driving to work, but I a not speeding." So it really jarred me when all of a sudden, I saw a police officer standing on the sidewalk and pointing his radar gun at me. He was wearing sunglasses and the smile of a seasoned hunter. He was aiming to shoot. It made me question my own good judgement on the matter of "not speeding," which made me fumble my steering wheel a little and hit the brakes a little. It made me exactly the opposite of what the police officer wanted to make me, which was a less safe driver than I had been the split second before.
This, Dear Children, is what we like to call "ironic."
Y'all, I'm not going to lie; when I saw that radar gun and that smug, satisfied smirk, I felt just like a goose flying with my pack over a frozen lake above New England somewhere; I felt like a Republican out with my fellow constituates on a jovial wildlife preserve for an innocent hunting jaunt; I felt like a large, wild game animal on Sarah Palin's ranch in Alaska.
Y'all, I'm not going to lie; when I saw that radar gun and that smug, satisfied smirk, I felt just like a goose flying with my pack over a frozen lake above New England somewhere; I felt like a Republican out with my fellow constituates on a jovial wildlife preserve for an innocent hunting jaunt; I felt like a large, wild game animal on Sarah Palin's ranch in Alaska.
It disturbed me.
If I was disturbed, I was not going to be on my A game at work, and, as a salesperson, I was not going to sell very well. This disturbed me even more. Because If I don't sell well, not only will I not survive, but the economy won't survive, and I won't be able to pay my taxes...the very same taxes that provide this policeman (who harbors an unrealized lifelong dream of big adventures on the African Savannah with Ernest Hemingway et al circa 1922) with his job of terrifying the masses of civilized tax payers so that he can shock them with a photo ticket 3-5 business days later.
If I was disturbed, I was not going to be on my A game at work, and, as a salesperson, I was not going to sell very well. This disturbed me even more. Because If I don't sell well, not only will I not survive, but the economy won't survive, and I won't be able to pay my taxes...the very same taxes that provide this policeman (who harbors an unrealized lifelong dream of big adventures on the African Savannah with Ernest Hemingway et al circa 1922) with his job of terrifying the masses of civilized tax payers so that he can shock them with a photo ticket 3-5 business days later.
Blink.
Blink.
And to think, he could have been using that time and money to hunt down and capture a real criminal.
This, Dear Children, is what is commonly known as "Wishful Thinking."
-XOXO,
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