Outside

Next time on Biography…

I’m on the outside
Lookin’ in

Oh I’m an outsider outside of everything
Oh I’m an outsider outside of everything
Oh I’m an outsider outside of everything
Everything you know
Everything you know
It disturbs me so

It’s trendy these days, or so it seems to me, for some among us to run around having conniptions of kittens because some law might apply to them and … gasp of horrors … they never had the opportunity to sign off on it first.

Well, la dee frickin’ dah! Who the fuck are you? Apparently I forgot that any one of me is worth a hundred of you. You’re special. You’re important. Me? I’m the official spokesperson for The Rest Of Us. Also known as the Wretched Refuse, the tired, poor huddled masses of the homeless, tempest-tost. I’m the elected leader of those not worthy to be ground to mush to fill the empty spaces in the waffle treads of your Nike footwear.

I’m the stranger in a strange land. As I look around and apply logic to what I see, the message comes in loud and clear. I do not belong.

Do I agree with every law that governs my behavior? Did I have a say in the creation of those laws? No. 99.9% of them were made before I was even born. Of the rest, 99.9% were made without my direct input and consent. No vote. Not in this democracy. Those decisions were made (by proxy) by my elected representatives, of which perhaps 40 to 45 percent were of my choosing.

The only laws I’ve ever had a direct vote on were initiatives, and even there, my win/loss ratio is something like 30%. Did I mention I’m an outsider?

But you keep on birthing your litters every single time you don’t like some aspect of some law which will only apply to the rest of us because you threw a tizzy.

If I think something is true, it’s a pretty safe bet that I’ll be in the one percent. It’s lonely.

Maybe we shouldn’t, as a society, spend our days deliberately sucking poisonous toxins directly into our lungs? Outvoted! We chose to allow it everywhere you’ll go. Good luck, by the way, getting into the public library. We’ve got it surrounded. A bar on one side and a coffee shop on the other. Have fun running our friendly little gauntlet of death cloud.

Maybe people who have shown a propensity to drive under the influence of alcohol should face real consequences for their actions? Outvoted! We don’t think that’s very important. Maybe if someone gets killed then we’ll show some belated acrimony and concern, but not until then. And, even then, the punishment will never equal the crime. So sorry your loved ones were killed, though. Hey, look at that celebrity!

Even when science is on my side I get overruled. Why do we allow people to smoke at gas stations? Outvoted. Boom. That guy is covered in fire. Who could have predicted that? Lit cigarettes thrown all over the planet? Look at all the extra house fires and forest fires we’ve got. Some even use their oxygen tanks as kindling. And here I thought the world was flammable and dangerous enough already? Nope. Outvoted!

Well, at least we can all agree that driving should be restricted to those who maintain the ability to do it safely? Nope. Outvoted! People who are 85 years old like to enjoy their mobility. Such feelings outweigh the risk to life and liberty of others. Again, maybe if something deadly happens we’ll pay the situation some lip service, but only then. We’re only willing to address this concern after the fact on a case-by-case basis. Essentially some random percentage of the rest of us are expendable. That’s the payment for this approach. Outvoted.

Dogs loose in the street? Pooping everywhere? Who gives a shit! Maybe if one gets on the highway and causes a five-car pileup or eats one of our neighbor’s younglings then we’ll care. Of course we’ll take action then. But not before. Outvoted. Even the feelings of a dog are more important that your right to be secure. The essential concept here is that we’d rather have your neighbor making decisions about your personal safety on your behalf. Don’t worry. He knows best. At least until he’s wrong and you find you baby in a dog’s belly.

Somewhere there’s a person who owns and profits from a platform, like a stage, used for performances and fun. It’s a place where people assemble. Maybe it’s at a school. Maybe it’s a stage at a county fair. Maybe it’s a hot disco dance club. Again, we have the science. This is the year 2014. All collapse accidents are preventable. It’s simple math. Nothing more than an engineering problem if that science is acknowledged. That’s a big if. If someone is diligent about putting the safety and welfare of others above his own profits. But we don’t seem to care until we got a big pile of bodies to look at. Then we get our umbrage on.

And so it goes. On seemingly every issue I’m on the outside. Looking in. And I don’t like what I see. And no one but me gives a shit. I’m on my own.

I might as well be an alien without the ability to phone home based on how much I agree with the creatures on this planet.