Yes, indeed, it may be possible to have TOO MUCH PERSPECTIVE. Ammo Grrrll writes:
In a classic scene from the hilarious Rob Reiner mockumentary Spinal Tap, the Heavy Metal fellas are all standing round the grave of Elvis Presley at Graceland. Nigel Tufnel – he of the cranking an amplifier up to “11” — opines that “It really puts perspective on things, dunnit?” and poor drug-addled David St. Hubbins says, “Yeah, too much! Too much bleeping perspective!”
Apparently there comes a time in everyone’s life when “perspective” is too much. Certainly September 10 contained way too much perspective for me. I will address the ongoing rage and heartbreak of Charlie Kirk’s murder when I can be semi-coherent on the subject in a manner that won’t get my picture posted on Disqus, front and side view.
But today we complete the CC4 trip.
On our second to last day driving home from our recent trip to Minnesota, we had left from Odessa, TX on our way to Las Cruces, NM. We had no recourse but to go through El Paso. Both Texas and New Mexico have “common sense” speed limits of 80, which means that drivers go 95. At those speeds, all of the bad drivers are already dead, so it makes the miles go by very quickly.
There is perpetual and endless road construction in Texas in general and in El Paso in particular. Which means you are hurtling along at warp speed in three extremely narrow lanes with concrete barriers on either side. You can sweat through your deodorant in just minutes of such stressful driving. Especially with iffy Air Conditioning.
But in El Paso, around noon, we came to a full and dead stop. This was not unusual or unexpected. Even though it was not close to a rush-hour time frame. “It’s El Paso, Jake.” But still it was annoying. We whined and moaned for over half an hour as we crawled along, always with the inevitable lane switchers who believe that risking life, limb, and vehicle is well worth moving up one car length. ”Whew! I’m ahead of THAT guy…only 7,383 to go!”
And then suddenly things kind of opened up and we saw the horrifying problem. OUR lane was clogged up simply by gawker slowdown as looky-loos surveyed the wretched sight in the other lane going east. A semi truck was turned over; a VW Beetle was smashed to smithereens. No passenger could have survived. And a pickup truck was also severely damaged. No lanes were open and there were several ambulances, fire trucks and multiple squad cars. The backup of traffic in that lane went on for at least five miles solid with more clueless unfortunates feeding into the mess every minute.
And you realize – that could have been US. That could have been our day to be hideously injured or killed. And suddenly – with “too much bleeping perspective” – you just pray for the victims, the First Responders, and vow to be patient and grateful rather than annoyed. I don’t think either of us said a word for quite a while. We stayed at a beautiful hotel – Hotel Encanto de Las Cruces, 5 Stars, highly recommended – and had a major attitude adjustment for the remainder of the trip. Tequila helped in the immediate aftermath.
On our last sweaty travel day, at a tiny gas station/convenience store in the middle of the desert, I was most grateful to be in the small line to use the restroom facilities. Let’s just say there was a certain sense of urgency involved, though not yet desperation.
There were three separate unisex restrooms, the one on the right occupied for quite some time already which is never good. A man came out of the one on the far left and announced inauspiciously: “Well, it wasn’t TOO horrible.” News you can use. And a far cry from the Love’s chain whose motto is “Clean spaces, friendly faces.” They do not lie. I flat-out LOVE Love’s!
When a MAN says it wasn’t TOO “horrible,” one should probably just seek a nice saguaro cactus outside. But, desperate times call for desperate measures. I let a woman and a small child go next even though it was technically my turn. The room on the far right was still occupied. You could tell that every other person in that line was praying, “Please, Lord, if you care about me at all, don’t let that one open up next.” It didn’t.
The woman and little girl came out and I went in. Now I have lived long and traveled far, so I am familiar with the difference between “I’ll just wet my pants” horrible and “not too” horrible and the man’s assessment was accurate. It served its purpose and I took a full bath in leftover COVID-era Hand Sanitizer when I returned to the car. Though I must say that I did not need the sign “Out of Order” on the broken concrete floor of the shower to avoid using that.
But I had been tasked with picking up some snacks and water as well. The cooler with the water was tricky to open. A rail-thin gentleman who was probably in his 60s but looked 100 showed me how it was done, with a nice tip o’ the hat and a “Ma’am” thrown in. He then approached the clerk who, without prompting, reached back and got him his pint of whiskey and a $20 lottery ticket. He paid with some sort of benefit card.
He smiled and wished me a blessed day. I do not know his circumstances, of course, but he was disabled and could very well have been one of the thrown-away combat veterans produced with nauseating regularity in our broken world. When I got in line all of the people who looked to be locals rather than travelers also purchased lottery tickets. What a wretched, thoughtless tax on the extremely poor!
Here we were, in a nice car filled with nice albeit too much stuff heading to our nice home in our nice geezer enclosure. Sometimes when one is surrounded only by relatively prosperous middle-class people, it is easy not to notice that others aren’t doing as well. No, I don’t feel “guilty” no matter how much I may be encouraged to feel that way by idealogues.
I deny that my privilege came from the color of my skin. Nor did any lack of privilege come because I was a female. But I definitely did win the parent lottery – both were the first in their families to go to college, Daddy on the G.I. Bill – who stayed married for 71 years and loved us with all their hearts. There was also a lot of sacrifice and hard work on their parts and on our parts as well. And then, admittedly, a LOT of luck with good health and good genes. (Oops! Can’t say “genes,” right, Sydney?) But they matter…my kin were smart and industrious. Lucky me. Grateful me.
Still, the sight in the convenience store lingers. These didn’t look like bad people or criminals. Almost all were white, a couple Mexicans. They didn’t even seem hostile or angry. They just seemed to me like people who had been smacked around by life. People who were most comfortable living far off the grid. It would have been tough to get any further off.
There is nothing inherently wrong with being a “compassionate” conservative. I think President Trump GENUINELY wants to lift EVERYONE up. It’s a worthy goal. At least the goal of making sure the opportunities are available, even if the outcomes will be neither equal nor guaranteed. Perspective!
