The One Lacking Human Decency

I once had Stuart Little-like innocence. I once subscribed to the fantasy that we did, in fact, live in a society. I believed that we were a community of human beings governed by the rules of decency and mutual respect: Any youthful notions of this ideal have been stolen from me.

Those of you who know me well are aware that I'm essentially a good person, without bad intentions or prejudices (except towards cat people and my non-belief in the West Island...). I'm accepting, kind and have near impeccable personal hygiene. I help my friends find apartments, drive my great-grandmother to the dentist and take exhausting measures to be eco-friendly to the point of nausea. Just yesterday I bought my simple-minded muse a plush cow named Betsey.I'm an average kid with basic pleasures, like used books, Indiana Jones films and the sporadic smoothie. As long as there's fresh coffee and a Hab's game, I'm as happy as a pig in shit.

A mere three days ago I was getting ready to go tutor elementary school children when my vacation in the realm of child-like idealism ended abruptly:

I'd spent my Wednesday studying until I left the house at two o'clock to give my sister a ride and pick up a sandwich. The last I'd checked, picking one's kin up from school and purchasing a large ham sub on whole wheat was highly socially acceptable, though of some religious violation, but for that to take effect I would have to acknowledge the voodoo-like omnipresence of the Judeo-Christian deity which requires at least a four drink minimum (five after a heavy meal). I returned home at a quarter to three, ate my lunch, and continued my studies. My mother rang the doorbell just past five and rushed me downstairs to where I'd parked Miss Vickie, my beloved car. I'll spare you the appropriately barbaric words initialy used, but there was a humongous dent in the rear driver's side door. It was a hit and run.

Here's the kicker: I took Miss Vickie to the auto-body shop yesterday and the owner had some troubling news for me. He stated that in his experience, a dent like the one in my car was not the result of a collision with another vehicle. Worse: it was damaged by a person. Someone had to have kicked, hip-checked or been pushed into my car door for the damage to have been caused.

Are the ass hats who damaged my car better able to afford the damage then I am?
Probably so.
Was it the fault of over-indulged suburbanite teenagers with too much time and too little to do? Probably so.
Do bad things happen to good people?
Undoubtedly.

Sadly, people suck. And I've learned the hard way.

Hopefully the next episode I share will be less troubling.

"Then yield thee, coward, and live to be the show and gaze o' the time"
-MacDuff, from MacBeth V:VIII