Digressions of a Dilettante

Digressions of a Dilettante
Vignettes of Inanity by Bud Hearn

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Someone is Always to Blame

Atlanta once burned. Blame Sherman. Now it floods and God’s getting the blame. So CNN said. But someone, or some thing, is always to blame for everything.

I’m blaming a white plastic fork for my problem last year. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Here’s what happened.

I used to keep a ’96 Chevy Blazer in Atlanta. It was really my daughter’s, not mine, just a hand-me-down. I’d bought it on a credit card as a wedding present (I say credit card because the wedding had pillaged my bank account). See, in weddings a father’s role is to “sit down, shut up and shell out.” Have you learned that yet? You will!

She’d moved up to a Benz, another hand-me-down from her mother. The Blazer suited me. I felt like Clyde without Bonnie behind the blackened windows. Anonymity has its own rewards. Furthermore, door dings didn’t keep me awake. In fact, it infuriated the insolent swine who swore revenge, and the Blazer became a vintage classic. But it did cause some consternation in my family.

They’d make snide comments like, “Have you no pride?” Or “I’m gonna laugh when the door finally falls off on Peachtree Street.” At least the valets expected no tip from a driver of a junk heap. By the way, it’s possible to drive vehicles a long time with the aid of bungee cords and duck tape. And the door never once fell off…I prayed a lot in those days.

Back to the episode. It was a cold, rainy Sunday afternoon. I’d arrived in Atlanta with a powerful hunger gnawing in my stomach. I’d spent a fortune for a large to-go of veggies and fried chicken from OK Café. Its aroma excited me beyond human comprehension, and I swooned in anticipation of the feast as I headed back to my office.

Starvation is a trickster. I got out of the car with the food, leaving my cell, wallet, keys and plastic fork in it. The office keys, too. The door shut, locked. Uh oh (well, that’s not REALLY what I said). My life flashed before my eyes. I saw the ambulance picking this desiccated, emaciated body from the parking lot, exclaiming, “Poor fellow…died of hunger for want of a plastic fork.”

Starving brings murder, mayhem, blame, things like that. But reality set in, my food sitting on the door stoop, getting cold. You see, my fork was inside the Blazer. I cursed the incompetent design engineer, the manufacturer, the inept line crew in Detroit and the dealer. They all had a hand in my dilemma, but blame won’t pay the rent, so I considered other options.

No luck. No money, no cell, no fork. The food got colder. I became delirious, irrational. Starving men are can’t be held accountable for their actions. Hunger drove me to more urgent solutions.

Ah, the back flair window, it was loose. Could I get a stick in the crack? No luck. Pull a little harder, no luck. Harder. The crack widened, I could see the fork. Harder, harder yet.

POW…like an explosion the window cracked into a thousand black pieces. Frantically, I shoved the stick in and hit the auto lock, success at last. In a crazed frenzy I reached in, grabbed the fork---never mind the other things--- and attacked my cold cuisine.

Later I assessed the results of my impetuous actions. Where did the blame go? That’s the dilemma. Who, or what, was to blame for this $238 mistake? Me? My hunger? God (others have for far less!)? The fork that mocked me? Blame had to go somewhere. But where?

The human brain is so constructed that all things must have a proximate cause, and as a consequence require a plausible conclusion. Any shrink will tell you that sanity cannot abide an un-reconciled mystery.

The epilogue to this ugly event was fitting. We gave the Blazer to a charity, Feed the Hungry Foundation, for a healthy tax deduction, a fitting conclusion to assuage my guilt and my family’s embarrassment. Circle closed. But was it? I think yes. You see, now there will always be a fork in the future of this Blazer…somebody else’s problem!

This blame game is serious business, and if we look deep enough, there will always be a Judas goat somewhere that can take the blame.

Take my word for it!

Bud Hearn
September 24, 2009

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