That Which Does Not Kill Us... Someday Will

I have noticed that I have an instant and complete contempt for authority figures. Whereas most people (I suspect) are cautious around police officers and have an innate tendency to follow their commands, I have an overwhelming urge to confront them about why I’m being told to do or not do something or ordered around in general. I’m not sure where this comes from. For the most part my interactions with authority figures have been relatively pleasant. The one cop I actually know is probably one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. So what is it about cops, security guards, bouncers, high school lunch ladies and other figures of tyranny that ramps up my hostility index?

I think it stems from the fact that I don’t break the law. Well not the ones that matter. I mean, I don’t hurt anyone, get into fist-fights, steal anything or vandalize property. I don’t spit on the sidewalk, throw my garbage in the street or play loud, thumping music in my car. I help people stranded on the side of the road, I hold the door open for them as they walk by and give up my seat for little old ladies on the bus. That is not to say I’ve never been in trouble. It’s just that when I have been in trouble it’s for no good fucking reason. And that’s where this comes from. It’s always some stupid, self-defeating rule contrary to the good of the whole that I get in trouble for violating.

I have absolutely no patience for officious bureaucratic red tape and meaningless rules. “So tell me Mr. Bus Driver, why can’t I bring a half empty can of soda onto a bus, but I can bring a 64 ounce Big Gulp.” “Well, we only allow beverages with lids.” “But wait, think about it for a second. If I drop my can of Sprite on the bus floor, only a little part of the top of the can will let liquid out. I’ll probably spill a few ounces at most before retrieving it. But if I drop a big, giant paper cup with a little plastic lid, it’s guaranteed to explode like Vesuvius, pouring the entire 64 ounces all over the bus.” I tried to explain that to the driver, but he appeared nonplussed and just pointed to the little sign that read: “Covered Beverages Only”.

That kind of stuff drives me crazy. I become positively apoplectic over this shit, and one day it will kill me. When the aneurysm or hail of bullets shuffles loose my mortal coil, they’ll find my lifeless, contorted body on the floor of the DMV.