Slashed

If one were to closely examine the inside of my car, they would probably say something along the lines of:

“Whoa, you ever hear of a thing called a vacuum cleaner?”
“I kinda understand the Glen Campbell CD, but Anne Murray?”
“Why is there a giant plastic bag in the backseat filled with tires?”

It’s the third response that I want to focus on. Why, indeed, am I carrying around automobile tires in my car? The answer is simple: for the insurance company to inspect so they'll pay me money. This is because these tires used to be on the front of my car, but had to be removed after they'd been slashed by somebody or some group of somebodys who have just made a large number of enemies in a very short time, because they slashed not only my tires, but also the tires on thirty or so cars in my neighborhood.

Now, here’s the question I find myself asking: Why aren’t I madder? It seems like I should be steaming, cussing, spitting venom, complaining, and raising a ruckus, just like if my team lost in the playoffs because of a bad call by the official. But I’m not. In fact, I hardly got angry at all, and that’s sort of confusing. I mean, I’m a pretty mellow guy, but I have gotten angry before, such as the time I went to the driving range and hooked nearly ever single shot into the trees. Why is it then, that I can get mad at golf, or playing basketball with somebody who doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘pass’, but not because my tires were slashed in a senseless, random act of vandalism?

Maybe it’s because I know there were a lot of other victims, and they’re going to be plenty peeved as it is already, so why should I waste my time adding to the mix? It happened, and that’s that. Life goes on.

Maybe it’s because the perpetrators are currently faceless, so there’s nobody specific for me to be mad at. (I guess I could sit out in a lawn chair and shake my fist at anybody under the age of twenty who passes by, but I’m saving that activity for when I’m seventy.)

Maybe it’s because it wasn’t that much of an inconvenience to me, as I had two new tires on my car by lunch, thanks to insurance and roadside assistance.

Still, it seems like I would be angry and want revenge. It seems like I would set up a stealthy STING operation, where I’d stake out my car after I’d parked it in some lonely parking lot, leaving it ripe for vandalism. I would wear all black, along with black face paint, and wait night after night, ingesting shocking amounts of coffee and salty snacks, until I was able to catch the perpetrators in the act and have my revenge. (I’m not sure what my revenge would be, mind you, since the ability to inflict damage via physical violence isn’t high on my list of natural talents. Maybe I’d give them a stern tongue lashing, or just shake my head in a disapproving manner, hoping to elicit shame.)

For the record, I also wasn’t shocked that it happened, and I didn’t wonder why anybody would do such a thing, mainly because I just didn’t find it that surprising. People are idiots, and they’ll do idiotic things. I also wasn’t bitter, and I didn’t think that this was proof that the entire world is going down the drain. This is because it’s been obvious that the world is going the drain for some time now, so that boat sailed a long time ago.

So, as it stands now, I’m pretty much devoid of emotion towards the incident, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. Still, I guess there’s no reason in trying to get myself worked up if it doesn’t happen naturally. That will happen soon enough, just as soon as I start playing basketball again when winter comes around.

P.S. I was joking about Anne Murray.

P.P.S. I will admit that sitting in a lawn chair and shaking my fist at teenagers is getting more tempting by the moment.