I was in the bank this morning with my daughter waiting in a queue, when all of a sudden a chap in front of us started shouting into his mobile phone like a madman. The argument went something like this:
“DON’T EFFING HANG UP ON ME! If you do I’m coming round your ‘ouse and I’ll smash it up. DO YOU ‘EAR ME! *expletives ad nauseum*”
He was told by a bank official to stop ranting into the phone, which he totally ignored of course, and continued round the corner after our wrathful stares were beginning to bore holes into him. If the stocks were still an accepted measure of punishment I have no doubt the rotten tomatoes aimed into his gob would have been many. I would have relished throwing a series of suitably rotten beef tomatoes at the cretin, if anything it may have toned down his bad language. He is one of many hapless individuals that is short on intelligence around here. Just from his attire – dirty track suit hanging half way down his backside, trainers and general unhealthy demeanour – I made an assumption. I judged and was correct in my judgment. I didn’t want to be so petty and typical but this guy lived up to the stereotype unfortunately. I have come to the conclusion that there is a fine line between decorum and all out anarchy. It doesn’t take much to incur our base primal instincts. This guy certainly felt those instincts.
I have been mindful this past week of paying attention as I walk around town going about my business. We all have business, however trivial or important we deem it to be and so we go about blindly doing our thing: paying bills, shopping, going to work, housework, kids, fulfilling duties and projects - whatever it may be it is rare we give such things anything more than a passing thought. We never really notice those others (like us) who are doing more or less the same thing we are. They’re pretty much invisible. The eyes overlook the commonality of everyday living. We stick to our own tribal communes, the rest of humanity we regard as superfluous, and therefore choose to ignore with little ado. Always on automatic we keep our rotas moving along week-by-week and make sure we keep the hamster-wheel turning without a glitch, certainly if it’s within our control. We stick to our comfort zones.
I have tried to gag my mind because it’s figuratively blinding me and this perhaps has precipitated some strange notions with regard to what I see. I am trying to look at things with a renewed perspective, much like children and artists do. It’s all about sight, something we take for granted. We don’t consciously realise how much our eyes command our thoughts with regard to instant impressions and on the spot judgments. For instance, how many times do we make a quick assessment of an individual based on what we see? We pass judgment on the physical appearance: clothing, looks, health and general demeanour. The other senses don’t come into play until our eyes have had their fill and formed an instant appraisal.
The power of sight is, in my opinion, sovereign above all other senses. It predisposes us to judgements and instant emotive conclusions, certainly with regard to other human-beings, purely on what we see before us. I never really thought about it until I started reading “Blindness” by Jose Saramago. Although many have described this book as allegorical due to its universal, timeless nature, it is a story about ordinary people suddenly struck blind whilst going about their lives and being confined by the government and army into empty buildings to try and contain the contagion, much like lepers. Subsequently as more and more afflicted people are confined a breakdown of their ‘micro-society’ slowly begins and the moral degradation that ensues leads to some terrible consequences, it encompasses the world at large and doesn’t discriminate. To quote a review I read: “...it shows how fragile our civilisation is, and how always close society is to collapse.”The very idea that primal fear can strip us off our accepted humanity questions our interpretation of what it is to be human. Perhaps Saramago’s philosophical discourse throughout the narrative is preachy, but so what. He’s one of those authors that make you think. Something that Sartre and Camus did for me in my late teens.
On one particular day last week I encountered the Vampire-Slayer. Now you may be thinking to yourselves that I have pretty much lost my marbles, but no, I have to say this individual really looks like a man that would give Van Helsing a run for his money. I am in awe of his appearance because it’s so uniquely out of place and not afforded his real name (adding to his mystery) I think of him as the nameless one. He is a man in his late fifties, early sixties according to my judgmental estimations. He’s tall and well built; has long grey/silver straight hair (nicely kept) down his back and a well groomed beard. Not quite a druid or a wizard he wears a long leather coat, beaten up Doc Martins and sometimes in cold weather, leather gloves to match. He is what you might describe as a sophisticated Hell’s Angel minus the bike. I have only ever seen him on foot. But when I do see him I always have to look back when he walks past me just to make sure I have seen what I think I have. He doesn’t just walk he glides past you with an easy gait, almost like he owns the air around him; such an intrinsic confidence that makes me envious. There are people in the world who have incredible auras about them and I think this guy, perhaps because he stands out, has one such aura, perhaps unbeknownst to him. My vivid imagination can just about see him wielding a crossbow and a couple of stakes in slow CGI motion with one or two kung-fu kicks thrown in for good measure, dealing punishment where it’s warranted. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part but I rather hope he instils fear in the good for nothing layabouts who have nothing better to do than drink cans of special brew and speak in the universal language of the lazy commoner not interested in bettering themselves, a language laced in colourful metaphors : eff-this and eff-that. Believe me the stereotype is alive and kicking and what’s worse is that these people are happy with the hand-outs and the purposeless lives they lead. They give you surly looks and involve you (whether you want to or not) in their gormless mobile phone arguments. They don’t care about anyone else and what’s it to them if they happen to disturb the peace? Oh yes, Mr half-way pants from this morning comes to mind.
I may pluck up the courage to ask the Vampire-Slayer for the time some day, but I am really fearful that what my eyes have perceived – elevating him onto a pedestal of my own making – is not what the reality is. What if he speaks like a smurf? What if he’s not as ‘cool’ as I think he is? Then again, maybe I can employ his services in ridding the town of all the social vampires that need a good kick up the backside to get their lives into order.
Civilisation? A fine line. A fine line indeed!
