Yesterday, on July 4th, I tried my hand at a little experiment. Most everywhere we went, when we bumped into folks, I’d offer up a typical social greeting that was germane for the occasion. “Have a great Fourth,” I’d say. Or, “Happy Fourth of July to you.” This was a departure for me. Normally when I’m out and about I keep my mouth shut and scowl a lot at everyone I see.

The results are in and they are a bit eye-opening for me. In each instance my greetings were warmly received and usually resulted in something similar being said back at me in friendly fashion. I found it quite odd.

For example, we had gone to the park. We arrived before noon and the park was less than half full. When we returned to our car about an hour later the lot was full. My wife was predicting that we’d have problems because our car would be blocked. Sure enough, we arrived and found some kayaks and gear behind our car. I eyeballed the unruly lot of ruffians, a lot that I normally wouldn’t speak to. This situation had classic Abyss confrontation written all over it, possibly ending with yours truly keeled over from a heart attack caused by anger. Instead I tried a different tack. As nicely as I possibly could, I said, “We’re taking off. Could I get you to move your gear, please?” And then I added, “Happy Fourth of July!”

The stuff was moved in no time and we received a hearty “Happy Fourth of July to you, too!” in return.

In our town this year there was no officially sanctioned fireworks display. Apparently there wasn’t money in the budget or it had something to do with insurance or something. Out of the blue we also realized that our town doesn’t even have an escalator.  We have to drive 30 miles to a bigger town and visit “The Mall” for that. Yeah, this is a bit of a small town.

Most fireworks are also illegal here, too. But that doesn’t stop all the fireworks vendors from setting up shop right outside of the city limit boundaries. Bastards. I hate fireworks. Dangerous and noisy, fireworks are decidedly not one of my favorite things.

Most of my neighbors, however, are little closet pyros and demolition nuts. They really seem to get off on showing their love of country by making things go boom. Personally I’ve never understood the attraction.

July 3rd was a Saturday night and the fireworks started early. My wife and I were minding our own business. We were inside our home and watching a movie. Suddenly we heard something hitting our windows and house. I sprinted out the front door like John Wayne ready to kick some ass but I couldn’t find anything there.

Then, on July 4th, we got a lot more of the same, and we realized that what sounded like something hitting our house was actually the impact of sound waves caused by fireworks. Illegal ones, it turns out, in this case. Argh.

It freaked out my kitties and was extremely irritating. The night of July 4th ranks very low for me every year. It is not one of my favorite nights.

I’m now about to head to work. (My wife has the day off but my company, of course, refuses to recognize this holiday. Profits are more important than patriotism.) I’m sure I’ll see the garbage and burned out debris scattered across parking lots around this town like I do every year that these amateur pyro-bug criminals left behind. They never seem to be able to pick up their own mess. And thus they unwittingly demonstrate the grand principles behind our great country which has become a society of assholes…