Army of Dog

I’m quickly coming to the conclusion that I should just become a shut-in. The behavior of ordinary people is changing in ways that are likely to send me to prison for battery. I don’t know when it happened exactly, but at some point in the last few years, everyone in America under the age of 25 turned into a fucking zombie. I see them everywhere I go, the grocery store, restaurants, retail stores, driving in the car. They stare blankly at a small screen and type furiously with one hand as they make a half-assed attempt to negotiate the world around them. Like an army of retarded techno-savants they masterfully type 40 words per minute with their left thumb while completely fucking up the simplest of tasks, like walking and standing in public.

I should say that I am not one of those Luddites who believe that cell phones are evil. In fact, I think they should be standard equipment for any teenager that is allowed to leave the house by themselves. That’s probably an opinion that many will disagree with, but it’s a topic for another time.

The impetus for this particular post was an incident that occurred yesterday while I was out running a few simple errands. The kind of tasks that shouldn’t require a three hundred percent rise in blood pressure. At some point along my journey I became thirsty and decided to stop by the nearest convenience store for a drink. As I walked into the store and past the counter there was a line of about five people waiting to check out. This was the middle of the day so I can only assume that a line that long has something to do with lottery tickets and cigarettes. This particular store has only three aisles leading back to the refrigerated case stocked with liquid refreshment, so my options for navigating to the back of the store were limited. The closest aisle was blocked by the line of people waiting to check out, and the far aisle was blocked by an employee stocking the shelves with a half-dozen or so boxes strewn all over the floor. At this point, the middle aisle is my only option. The problem is that three teenagers, probably about seventeen or eighteen, were standing in the smack-dab center of the middle aisle. All three, one guy and two girls, were standing in the aisle with heads hung low typing furiously on their mobile devices. They paid no attention whatsoever to the merchandise on the shelves around them, indeed they seemed to have already selected their purchases. They simply stood there like zombies texting away. This is a pretty normal issue in public spaces in the modern age, so I thought nothing of heading down the aisle to politely excuse myself past the three truants and be on my way.

In virtually any civilization throughout human history, the act of navigating past others in a public area is not generally a complicated one. It involves, at most, the exchange of a few pleasantries and a polite request for pardon as you make your way through. This particular case was, of course, very different. I made my way down the aisle until I came to the first teenage-mutant-ninja texter and politely said “pardon me.” The girl glanced up briefly with a slightly annoyed look and silently moved a couple of steps to one side to let me through. The second girl was at least paying enough attention to her surroundings to notice my presence and join her friend to one side. Then I came to the third little bastard and, since he had not even looked up yet and remained in my way, said “pardon me” yet again. What happened next exceeded my already low expectations of modern teenage behavior. The shithead, without looking up from his phone, said “yea man, just a sec.” I shit you not, you could have knocked me over with a whisper. It took him about five more seconds to finish his text message, during which time I tried my best to remember exactly how long the minimum sentence for battery of a minor is in the State of Texas. By the time I had decided that whatever the sentence, it was worth it, the little turd shuffled off to one side and began another frantic message.

My mind was racing the entire way to the cooler and back to the checkout counter. After I paid for my drink, I turned around and the three teenage speedbumps were still standing in the aisle texting their little thumbs off. Thirty years ago, especially in Texas, this same scenario would have ended with the little shit being dragged out of the way by his ear and subjected to a thorough lecture on public courtesy. Today, the same thing would get you sent to prison, and the kid would be interviewed by the local news weasels with his mother crying about how horrible the experience was for the little choir boy.

The bottom line is that the tide has turned, and those of us who value politeness and consideration for others are, by far, the minority. I was taught by my parents at a very early age that other people were not paying for the privilege of hearing my conversation in a restaurant. Go to any eatery today, and the chance of you being seated next to some loud-mouthed ass who insists on subjecting you to his constant stream of bullshit approaches one. Try driving on a freeway in any major metropolitan area in this country without being cut off, tailgated, or nearly run off the road. You can’t, because the assholes have been given the protection of law and any decent person who stands up for themselves is likely to have the police called on them. In this climate, if I make it to forty without being arrested for assault it will be a miracle.

And while we’re on the subject of assholes and freeways, in the state of Texas, “Yield” is not a fucking suggestion. It is not my job to exit a freeway and come to a complete goddamn stop before changing lanes. If you don’t like having to stop for other traffic, buy the fucking tolltag like the rest of us. Now I need a drink of a different sort.