Friday, January 20, 2012

The good. The bad. The really really stupid.

Some scenes I respond too are created by good people with the best of intentions. Most of what I respond too is caused by those who were born bad or otherwise and have decided to continue being evil. It does not take long to go through the three stages of regard considering the really really stupid.

There was the good young man working hard at a processing plant that made designer blue jeans. These are the kinds of jeans one buys that look wreaked already. Holes in the knees, heavily worn, nearly worn out fabric. Finally there is bedazzling or bead work that is stapled or riveted all over.

I would like to apologize now to the makers of the bedazzeler, I have no intention of making fun of your product that makes other crappy crappy products look good. You do in fact now own a brand that is a generic reference for making things like the aforementioned jeans something special and you deserve credit: Look up BeDazzeler.

Now, back to the scene: The young man was working with the machine that is like a rolling barrel with holes in it that fits just inside another barrel that is solid. The contraption is spun with a 440 volt motor connected by six belts, the kind you see under the hood of a car. The motor is so big you would need the space found under the hood of a truck. The machine jammed, he went to unjam it and was successful until his upper body jammed it again after being pulled in. The fire department had cut all the electrical and belts. I mean they cut the wires and made sure they stayed that way. The body was layed out on the floor, he was somewhat flat and long.

I think of him as being a good man. I saw a young lady crying with the kind of deep heaving one does when shock has not worn off yet. Coworkers were still gathered, sobbing, heads and eyes looking back and forth into the distance that would have been his future. I could tell he was well liked.

A gang banger represents reprehensible humanity. They are the kind that live for the moment and will knife or shoot someone over the slightest form of disrespect. One such cur ran from the police in a high speed chase. He ran his small lowered car into a large complex of town homes. There were children playing outside. One small girl who looked like my niece was trapped up against a short retaining wall by his car that was going sixty plus in an area that one would be driving briskly doing fifteen.

When I got to the hospital that had her body the Emergency Room nurse said; “brace your self, it's the worst I have seen.” I said; “I gotta get you out to some train wrecks.” I was serious about that, she was correct. It was bad, I'll skip the details.

The cur was laying on a gurney cuffed in place and had just come out of the radiology lab having had his neck cleared. Anyone in an accident is brought in on a board and their head secured with tape to prevent further damage. X-rays confirmed no broken neck. He refused to look at me so I could take an identification shot of his face. I don't speak spanish so I don't know what was said to him in terse tones but he slowly turned toward me, it looked like it hurt. I don't know if it was the sudden stop, or the hiding in a garbage can for three hours curled up. He was discovered by a police dog and still had rotten food smell all over him.

Some accidents caused by the really really stupid used to depress me, I felt sorry for them. Then I evolved into a bit of anger toward those who toss out their life with the same effort I toss my fast food left overs. Im not laughing but... Everyone and anyone is supposed to know that alcohol does not help you drive, operate machinery, or do high wire work. It does not help you run in a straight line. Nor is it really useful in helping you with judgements like, how far away is that truck coming from anyway? Lots of prescription meds have warnings on them that echo the same idea; don't....and don't... and really really don't.....

A chaloob with a sixty page wrap sheet dosed up on anti anxiety meds by washing them down with malt liqueur. He sprinted across a six lane street in the foothills of Sunland, the legal speed is fifty miles an hour. He did not do well when struck by a jeep that was outfitted for travel in the back country. Imagine a really huge bumper et et et. The jeep still ran and was quite drivable afterward. The guy would need a new hood.

There would not be a page sixty one.

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