The Clarion

Issue date: 10/7/09 Section: Opinion

Jerks. A-holes. D-bags. You know the brand. You see their signature wherever you go: the shopping carts strewn about the parking lot blocking your stall, the angry honks at intersections, the empty paper coffee cup right beside the garbage can, the customer service worker who looks like she has just soiled herself. They all say the same thing: D-bag was here.

And while few of us can deny that we have our stresses and our bad days and the occasional bipolar mood (is that last one just me?), we do not, as a rule, take our issues out on others or simply exist in our day-to-day lives as insufferable human beings. We, it would seem, have taken the golden rule to heart and truly strive to treat others the way that we wish to be treated. So why do so many others not do the same? That is a question that I don't think Freud even attempted to answer and which I certainly cannot. Yet the stories of such wretched experiences to which we are victim or witness are tragically rampant.

Indeed from road rage to parking lot rage, it seems that we can hardly get into our cars these days without coming face-to-face with jerkism, as I like to call it. How many of us have had a parking stall stolen from us right in front of our eyes while we are waiting to take over said stall, as clearly indicated by our active blinker? How many of us on the Beltline have seen the vehicles coming up behind us in our rear-view mirror pushing at least 80 to 100 and navigating among us law-abiding drivers as though we were merely pars of an intricate and ever-changing racetrack? Does the phrase "baby on board" mean anything to these people? Apparently not, so I guess my "Buddy on Board" sign doesn't really serve much purpose. (No! I don't really have one! I kind of want one now, though.)

I do not claim to be able to cure all jerkism for all of time, but I do have a proposal that may get us started. I have come to believe that the golden rule must have a statute of limitations and it has most certainly been reached. The jerks have been given their chance to follow the golden rule, and I think we have no choice but to recognize that this whole time they have been following it.

In case you don't catch my meaning, let me spell it out: jerks, I've decided, want to be treated like jerks. So let us acquiesce. Let's proclaim it here and now to the dirt bags we've grown to despise: No more Mr. nice people. This is us, throwing down the gauntlet.

From now on, we will brake check you on the Beltline; we will block you into the parking stalls you steal; we will stand up for the customer service employees who you enjoy making cry; we will return your obscenities in the movie theater; we will let the door close in your face so you know how we and the old ladies feel; we will blare our horns at you when you wait one second before going at the green light; and we will get out of our cars when we're sitting behind you at an intersection, pick up the cigarette butt you just threw out your window, and we'll throw it back into your car and hopefully onto your lap. All in the hopes of maybe getting through to you. Because we're tired of the world you're creating. And of four-hour flights with flight attendants who have messed themselves.

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