hey kids, it's uncle peter again. if you know me, then you know i'm a tour guide. if ya don't, then the last fact is irrelevant, hell, it's irrelevant whether you know me or not. i had a tour the other day, 7 people, in a vehicle that had seating for eight. that is the main thing to consider, above all else. well, maybe that's the main thing. anyhoo, i had this one the other day and at the conclusion, was more appauled, and insulted, then maybe at any other time in my life.
the tour started out fine. i was piloting a vehicle which has a funny configuration, 4 seats inside, and 4 seats outside. as i had two seperate parties, and in the interest of fairness, equity, i said to them all " now if eveyone wants to ride outside, you will force me to 'play dad' and remind you all to switch, half way through." we all laughed, and everyone made friendly eye contact, exchanges of pleasantry, and agreed.
the family from Pennsylvania, one of two parents, and two children who were obviously eager for the back seats offered them fisrt to the other three, one of whom was from Boston, the other two, her parents i think, from Chapel Hill, Boston originally. we all cimbed in, and away we drove.
all along the way we shared, laughed, and communicated as a group. i noticed at one point that the older of the group of three, i think the mother in that trio, had a hard time climbing up and into, or back out of the rear of the truck. it is a high climb, but i provide an extra step stool. she never mentioned any pain at all, i just noticed it. along our ride we talked of coastal plain history, wild horses, and pirates, and their ilk. we snapped pictures. i climbed on and off of the hood of the vehicle, paining my freshly broken toe, to get them all family photos, Kodak moments to last them a life time. i offered them indigenous plants to eat. to keep this growing story short; as i said, we all had fun. then it became time to remind them of "the aforementioned switch."
as all moved around, and the mom of the Boston/Carolina three took her seat, i noticed that her seatbelt looked a little moist and sandy from the inevitable conditions found on the floor of an offroad safari jalopy. i informed her that if the condition of the belt was going to ruin her white slacks, that she didn't have to wear it, it was really no beg deal. this is when she informed me that she was "not concerned about her pants..." she said smugly, she was "more worried about her leg!" this was the first mention of any leg trouble. no matter the reason, at that moment the air changed, a pout began to form as her mature lower lip began to protrude, and from the moment that she crossed her arms and turned to gaze out of the window, we never regained eye contact. the ride back, about thirty minutes, was silent. as everyone looked around, my fingers tapped the terrible rhythm of "I Can't Drive Fifty Five", by Sammy Hagar. You see, i use whatever music the oldies station gives me each morning on the commute in as a distraction when this sort of thing occurs. why oh why it couldn't have been "Kashmir" or "Immigrant Song" by the Zep, i can only wonder, but getting back to the story, and my original point about beeing insulted.
as we all got out, and i was passing out those little cards by which the guests remember me, and how to rate their experience for my boss' sake, i noticed argument between the displeased woman and her spouse. if i were to guess, it was over whether or not to tip me. so as we all shook hands, exchanged mutual appreciations and bid one another farewell, i turned to the woman, and her two. extending my hand, and saying cheerfully " thank you, etc," the man, and the woman i figure to have been the spouse and daughter both smiled a genuine, but almost telling smile. both shook my hand and bid me good day. as i turned to the other woman, hand extended and a sincere "thank you very much, it was nice to-", she took her hands from her pockets, placed them behind her back, and while extending her pout, turned away from me as if i were never there.
i have done a lot of thinking since then. i have mused on the good old throat punch. i even think back to initial feelings of going into mine own pocket and refunding her money, to gain what i might deem my right to give her "what for." but as i think on beyond that, i think of her fear, her bitterness, her hatred. i consider the source, and i am happy, for the first time in my life maybe, at least recently for sure, to let it go. i have no more resaon to fight with her than a shovel which digs a ditch that i may not care for. i have no fight with the tools of those implements which practice on behalf of hatred, bigotry, fear, and the untold stories which chain those which hate me, hate my kind. my fight is with the source of this affliction of the human condition. i just wanted to pass this on to a few i know that would care to listen to this testimonial. i am a human. all i am, is a human. that is all any of us are.
WTF ?
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