Civil Disobedience

We stop at stop signs. Well, ok, in New Mexico this would be mostly, some of the time, sort of. Then to get on a foolish airplane, and, but, in the name of national security, we leave our shampoo at home, line up like cattle, empty our pockets and take our shoes off in airports. All the while trying to figure out how to respond to people whose job it is to scowl at us.

Then there’s junk mail. We don’t ask for it and despite any and all efforts to block it, somehow it shows up in our mail boxes. And we accept it. Entire hillsides of forest get mowed down and thousands of gallons of diesel fuel burn for the sake of junk mail and yet we hardly look at it, if at all, between the mail box and the trash can.

But not me. Mine never makes it to my trash can. Call me a Walter, but fair is fair and I am taking my stand. The U.S. Postal Service sees fit to give me this stuff so I see fit to give it back, even though I am probably <Gasp!> breaking the law!

As any fighter pilot will tell you, situational awareness is key. Keeping a low profile, I cruise the perimeter road at the mall while scanning the landscape for Security Patrol. They’re easy to spot – they’re the only guys who would not die before driving a base model Ford Ranger, you know, the ones with the dinky little hub caps on the white painted steel rims. But still, you gotta watch out for them. Most of them failed the cut for real PD work and so they’re on a mission. I roll up to the blue post office box and make one more quick scan. If the coast is clear, I grin and leave it in gear for a quick getaway. Down goes my window and into the mailbox goes my bundle of junk mail.

Ha-ha, Post Office! It’s yours now!

Gordon Bunker

Summers In A Tent

In one of his essays in Hackers & Painters, author Paul Graham asserts the public education system in this country bears too much resemblance to the prison system: in brief, we use it to keep a population we are scared of, off the streets with as little man (and woman)-power as possible.

Summer vacation is something school boards seem to be nibbling away at and there is discussion of eliminating it altogether. Apparently children would benefit from greater continuity in the schedule and taxpayers from more efficient use of facilities. But if we were honest about it, how much of the reason is to keep the troublesome little weirdos out of the adult world’s hair?

When I was a kid – oh Gawd, I’ve avoided this phrase at all costs – summer vacation lasted, well, for the summer. On the first day I took my shoes off and by the second my family was at the lake. And we stayed there until Labor Day. In a tent. It was a great arrangement; camping was within our modest financial means and the lake was close enough my dad commuted to work. Poor guy. Anyway, for my sister and me it was eat, run around, swim, canoe and boat, sleep like logs, get up the next morning and repeat, with slight variations on the theme like read a book or pester each other when it was raining.

Much more than goofing around in the fresh air, it was life away from the routine of school, it was rich with experience and educational in ways being in a system, cooped up in a classroom with a teacher could ever hope to provide. But then again, being chained to a desk in a climate controlled room with little or no view outside while being ministered to by someone in a position of authority is a life many people do. I’ve given it my best shot a couple of times and failed. After politely tendering my resignation I go screaming and running out the door. And right now sitting here at the keyboard of self-unemployment (with no shoes on) I’m itching to get outside.

So, what the hell do I know? Perhaps year-round education isn’t such a bad thing. Except for a few of us. Those kids, I already pity if it happens.

Gordon Bunker