Subj: New Year’s resolution
I have always held the concept of “New Year’s resolutions” in contempt, in large part because it seems self defeating to defer making behavioral changes in one’s self until some distance arbitrary date rather than addressing it immediately. None the less, in violation of all that’s holy, I have made a new year’s resolution to strip myself of the last vestiges of male chauvinism. Any man in his seventies who can say he had never been a sexist, either spent his first 30 years in a coma or he is the bubble boy. Over the years, however, it has become increasing apparent that this is no longer a world dominated by men.
Women have demonstrated an equal competence in all phases of life unless, of course, we are talking about driving. The inferior capabilities of women in this field are legendary and reinforced daily as women make their left turns from the right lane, change lanes without signaling and crawl along in the passing lane. Not that these perpetrators have been definitively identified as women, however, being assumed as being such, every bizarre driving tactic has been greeted with the universal jeer, “Look at that damn women driver”. While taking modest comfort in this last nook of male superiority, I have noticed lately that I myself have been honked at by testy looking motorists more often than ever before. I have observed feverish hand waving at myself and the occasional middle finger even roused itself from a gritty fist, all targeted toward, of all things, my own driving technique. Can it be true? Has equality been established here?
Just as I was about to despair, an incident occurred which recharged my diminished, but lingering belief in there being at least a trace of male superiority, somewhere, no matter how small that arena might be. Recently, while circling the mall parking lot for 45 minutes looking for a shopper about to vacate their space, I happened upon a women returning to her car. I pulled up behind her, fending off the stream of cars behind me vying for that spot. But once in her car, the women gave no indication of backing out. The brake lights did not come on and the guy behind me kept flashing his lights. What could she be doing in there? Oh God— No! I saw her open her purse and start fumbling around. Do you know how many distractions there are in a purse? …Make-up…shopping lists…chewing gum…CELL PHONE…Please, God,— not the cell phone. Now the honking behind me started. I looked in my rear view mirror and could see that the line behind me backed up the length of the whole parking bay and made the turn into another section. All the horns were now barking at me. Could I delay long enough to secure this little parking trophy or was I going to be forced to relinquish my spot only to have her then start the car and bestow the space on the guy behind me? Then —aghast–I see a pair of panty hose come flying out of a bag and I know I am doomed. If she is going to try these on in the car I must resign myself to moving on. Heatedly I resolved…A man wouldn’t do this. Men get in their parked cars and just drive off. They are fair—evenhanded—considerate—deliberate! Perhaps THIS is where man’s superiority lies. Not in driving a car but in vacating a parking space. That’s it– a small victory for men but at least the dinosaur reigns for another day.
I eventually found another parking spot, went into the mall, did my shopping and returned to my car with, as expected, another vehicle easing up behind my parking space ready to assume my position. When I entered the car, i waved, giving the fellow on-deck every indication of my pending departure—until— I realized I could not find the receipt for the gift I had just bought my wife. I started fumbling through every pocket and then noticed in the mirror, the first flashing of lights from the guys waiting for my spot. I looked out my driver’s window and noticed the receipt lying on the ground so I exited the car to retrieve it. Getting back into my car I noticed a line of cars the length of the parking garage now waiting for me. I struggled trying to fasten my seat belt around the heavy winter clothing I was wearing and then tried to dig my keys out of a coat pocket that was, now, shackled by the seatbelt….And, then I precipitously dropped the keys into that infamous abyss between the seat and the consol, a dismal space that has swallowed items never again to be found. The horn tooting then commenced — the fist waving and inevitably that infamous “finger” began urging me to “Get the Hell out of That Spot”. It was then that I noticed the on-deck car start to abdicate his position behind me. He grudgingly eased past me casting a sneer that stripped me of my manhood. Awash in perspiration I finally jerked my way out of my parking spot and looked for a vacant handicap space where I might recompose myself. Glancing into the mirror to review the toll this incident had taken on me I noticed in the looking glass, an inescapable truth. Beyond the weary eyes, the weathered skin, the sagging brow it became apparent. I was that very women who had, earlier, denied me a parking space. The dinosaur is dead! Men and women—we are all one and the same. The world once again, is indeed flat. Happy New Year!