Sympathy for the Devil

I’LL NO doubt get skewered for saying this, but I can’t pretend that I don’t understand the off-duty policeman’s rage and frustration at the windshield wiper who apparently wouldn’t leave him alone. Call it sympathy for the Devil, because I also recognise, of course, that it takes an incredible amount of recklessness and disregard for others – the windshield wiper and the public – to jump out of your vehicle guns blazing, if that account is true.

But it’s like when Chris Rock did his famous riff on O.J. Simpson’s murderous behaviour. One can’t condone the behaviour at all, but don’t pretend like you don’t understand where the man was coming from! He was paying all that alimony only to watch his pretty ex-wife cavorting with a younger fellow. C’mon. That’s the kind of thing that could get someone riled up and entertaining unwholesome thoughts.

Obviously we can’t condone living in a society where anger and frustration boil over so precipitously, and worse, gets expressed by allegedly running down a man and shooting carelessly. I mean, the guy was trying to wipe your lousy windshield, not pointing a gun in your face. Get a grip!

So without endorsing his behaviour at all, and knowing that I could go to hell for entertaining the sentiment, I kinda get where he’s coming from. Because the windshield wipers can be very “challenging” at times. They are, in turn, aggressive, insistent, annoying, threatening, and, at times, even predatory.

Forget about just verbal abuse. I know of instances where wipers get broken off, cars get scratched, people get soaked with dirty water. I have been forcibly introduced into all these relationships that I didn’t particularly want and from which I can’t exit. And Liguanea is the best of the intersections. You take your life into your hands if you go through Three Miles without ransom money at the ready.

WIPERS VARY

Let’s be clear: The windshield wipers vary. Some are thuggy. Some are crackheady. Others are sophisticated negotiators belonging on Wall Street, or at least New Kingston, and a quick conversation with them alerts you to great intelligence, wit, and accurate social observation.

But I don’t want to have to figure out who is who, and even if I should happen upon a good guy, I’m not always interested in hearing about the finer points of why I should pay for a service I don’t want. Suppose I’m focused on something else, or distracted, or maybe just feeling mean? One of the greatest pleasures of life, and one which is more and more under threat with the machinations of the NIDS-loving political ‘nidscompoops’, is to just be left alone.

I completely understand that to even have this conversation, we have to contend with public displays of do-goodery that are a perpetual plague. Very commonly when this problem is highlighted, some prominent luminary will invariably lecture about how ridiculously immoral it is to want to be left unbothered sometimes. Guess what? Too bad.

Plus, it’s all well and good for men to advocate leaving roving hustlers on the loose, but we’re not the ones they really ‘tek set’ on. I’m pretty certain there’s a healthy gender divide on the threat level felt by driver’s who can’t, or don’t want to, provide money for the windscreen-washing ‘service’.

By the way, I read with alarm The Gleaner’s story titled ‘Holistic approach needed to address wiper boys problem – ASP Garrick’, because when I hear about “holistic approaches”, I know nothing is going to happen. I’m sure ASP Garrick means well, but I’m worried that even after this Liguanea lunacy, it will be back to normal in short order.

For example, whenever I hear the dreaded words, “Daniel, it’s your turn to wash the dishes,” I softly moan and gripe for the better part of an hour or two, after which I become engrossed in a television programme or book. After some more time, and particularly if the TV programme ends, the Agony truly descends. That’s when I generally roll around on the ground, hot tears streaming and fists clenched, crying “Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabachthani.”

THE REAL PROBLEM

It’s at this point, having invoked the faith of my fathers, that a flood of insight descends. I realise that the REAL problem is that we don’t have an automatic dishwasher. We are stuck – I am stuck – in a pre-modern rut. That’s the damn problem! And why don’t we have a dishwasher?

Thus deep philosophical reflections ensue. After some more hours, under the right conditions or being left undisturbed, I will conclude that the absence of the automatic dishwasher isn’t at all accidental. It’s because an automatic dishwasher won’t work in this God-forsaken place.

And that, my dear friends, is because the power supply is too unsteady and the water pressure isn’t high enough. This social terrorism is, therefore, directly and indisputably, a result of JPS and NWC, cesspits because of bad and inadequate government policy from forever.

In short, it is this same damnable postIndependence malaise that is subjecting me to this torture.

OK, in case you think I’ve gone too far afield from the window-washer grief, that’s because of “holistic solutions”. A holistic solution can’t even solve my household’s dishwashing problem where a simple reminder of my duties triggers a level of crippling obfuscation, emotional barrierbuilding, and intellectual masturbation worthy of Wilmot Perkins. For after all, who can convince me that it’s not the politics of scarce benefits and spoils conducted by hostile tribes perpetually at war why I have to wash the damn dishes?

What I’m saying is, let’s not bother to solve every problem before we get around to solving this one. Do your job. Protect the public. And although I feel that smidgen of guilty sympathy for the arrested cop, it was a trigger-happy policeman who felt he was above the law, and the poor windshield wiper’s life was worthless? Daniel Thwaites is an attorney-atlaw. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com.