Round Here, We Respect The Fringe

We find ourselves, for a second time, at the end of a documented semester. Never did I ever think that I had so much stuff, but Johnny-5 has been converted into a vehicle with rear visibility equivalent to that of an 18-wheeler; as far as seeing out the back window is concerned, I can see enough to know either that there are one or more cars behind me, or none. It's good practice, I suppose, for using my rear-view mirrors. I just hope I don't get pulled over.

Though, if I do, what's the cop going to do? :

Cop : Son, do you know how fast you were going?
Me : Slower than you were, since you caught up to me.
Cop : Very funny. You going somewhere, son?
Me : Not anymore. You pulled me over.
Cop : Where you going with all this stuff?
Me : Home, Officer.
Cop : Where's home, son?
Me : Atlanta.
Cop : Atlanta?
Me : Yessir.
Cop : That's a long way to drive with no rear visibility.
Me : Would you rather I drive somewhere closer?
Cop : Son, you're either gonna have to mash your luggage down better, or leave some of it behind.
Me : Trust me, I mashed it 'bout as good as it'll mash.
Cop : Son, are you mocking me?
Me : Not in the eensy teensy tiniest, Officer.
Cop : You need to get rid of some of your luggage, son.
Me : What, just leave it out here on the side of the road.
Cop : I'll take what you decide you don't need.
Me : But Officer, I feel like I need everything in this car.
Cop : How about that leather fringe jacket?
Me : Oh, I definitely need that.
Cop : Atlanta, in the Summer? You won't be needing a leather jacket.
Me : I plan on living past this Summer, Officer, at which point I intend to continue wearing that jacket.
Cop : I'm gonna need you to step out of the car, son.

I imagine I'd talk him out of taking the jacket by trading a couple of black novelty t-shirts, a DVD copy of A Fistful Of Dollars, and a nice silk bathrobe he had his eye on (if he could read the label, he might stand a chance of knowing it wasn't really silk).

Or I could beat him over the head. I know! I know. I swore that I'd quit, but this damn patch doesn't do shit.

It's ironic, but I just can't adjust to being well-adjusted. I know one doesn't just wake up a completely different person, with different tolerance for bullshit and stupidity, but I'm not claiming to have woken up to these changes.

You may not be aware of this (if you're an imbecile), but I once spent a great amount of energy actively hating people, and most of this hatred was unjustified. It's not only in hindsight that I realize the groundlessness of my spite; I was completely aware of it all along.

I still see my former objects of hatred around campus, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a little awkward for me. It's like running into an ex with whom things ended bitterly, only the ex has no recollection of the fallout or even the relationship. I spent so much time muttering under my breath about these people, that I find myself instinctively turning my face down to better muffle my curses. Only, once I'm looking at the ground, I've got nothing to say. I harbor these people no ill will. Except one fucker, whose uppance will come.

In my conflict with Vladimir, I experienced, for the first time, a truly justified hatred. I took that truly justified hatred, applied to it my obsessive paranoia, and I managed to resolve the entire issue. The problem with unjustified hatred is that there can be no resolution. You may be right, I may be crazy, but never so crazy as to actually go beyond the point of muttering curses under my breath. So I just end up hating, muttering, cursing until the lower register of my voice gets hoarse.

There's no fulfillment in that, I tell you.

And so I pledge to never again hate without good reason. I do this, not out of the goodness of my heart (as there is so precious little), but out of my own interest in pursuing achievable goals. Which brings me to one last vignette:

Cop : Son, do you know how fast you were going?
Brody : About 82, Officer.
Cop : Are you aware that the local speed limit is 70 miles per hour, Son?
Brody : Yes, Officer, and I'm very sorry.
Cop : Well that's nice. Now let's talk about your rear bumper.
Brody : My rear bumper? Is something wrong with it?
Cop : Are you aware that someone has written on your rear bumper?
Brody : That fucker.
Cop : 'Scuse me, Son?
Brody : No, Officer, I was not aware of that.
Cop : [walks around to the back of the car and cranes his neck to read] "Four-hundred and twenty rocks." "I love pot."
Brody : That fucker.
Cop : What was that, Son?
Brody : Nothing, sir.
Cop : "Cops R Dumb." "Jesus was a pig..." you get the idea, Son?
Brody : I don't know who could have written that, Officer.
Cop : I'm going to need to search your vehicle for contraband, Son.
Brody : I swear, it's just some asshole playing a prank on me.
Cop : Oh yeah? Then what's that there in your backseat?
Brody : What's what?
Cop : There, sticking out of the pocket of that leather fringe jacket.
Brody : I don't own a leather fringe jacket.
Cop : I'm gonna need you to step out of the car, Son.

A boy can dream, can't he?