There are a lot of groups fighting discrimination in the United States, and with the exception of the occasional whacko bunch, that's a good thing.
But there is blatant form of discrimination that still goes on, and nobody does a durn thing about it, and I'm angry because I'm one of the victims.
I am talking about alphabetism, which is discrimination against those of us whose last names start with a letter found near the caboose of the alphabet.
It began in kindergarten. We were organized in alphabetical order. We sat in our seats that way, we lined up that way, and we got in line for lunch that way. So while Kay Adams and Jimmy Bass were always going first, living large, people like me and Jimmy Zminski were always bringing up the rear. What did we do to deserve this?
Think of the poor kids at high school graduations whose names are Thompson or Wilson or Young. By the time they get their diploma, the crowd has gotten so rowdy you can't hear a word, because the idiot parents are celebrating the last positive thing their child will ever do, graduate from high school.
You'd think you might grow out of this as you become an adult, but no. I was victimized again today when I had to appear in traffic court on a charge of failure to yield. Which is not true. I yielded, just not soon enough. Is it my fault the other driver had the reflexes of a sloth and couldn't avoid my mini-van?
I missed my original court time and had to go to a later session, so for a few hours, I was actually a fugitive from the law. That made me feel kind of cool and dangerous. What did I do while I was on the lam, you ask? Well, I answered a few e-mails. I surfed the Web for a bit. Had a nice grilled chicken salad down in the company cafeteria. There's nothing like living on the edge.
When I did show up for court, they called us in front of the judge - you guessed it - in alphabetical order. How is this fair?
I was getting nervous, because the judge was asking people why they had missed their court date, and fining them $100 for doing so. One guy missed his court date because, he said, "I was incarcerated at the time." The judge noted that a second date had been set and missed, and the guy said, "I was re-incarcerated at that time." The judge found this plausible, and waived the $100 charge. I thought it was a decent thing to do.
The afternoon had its moments. One pudgy frat boy, whose first name was Rollins (of course it was) pleaded guilty to speeding, then told the judge, "If it makes a difference, I was trying to get to my new job on my first day." The judge affixed him with a look reminiscent of Strother Martin in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, when he says to Robert Redford and Paul Newman, "Morons. I've got morons on my team."
I was the last person to be called, and I had my excuse ready. I won't bore you with it, but it involved a bus accident, a fire, and me heroically saving 17 Guatemalan children from sure death. But the judge was tired by this time, too, because he waived my failure to appear charge before I could even open my mouth, accepted my "no contest" plea, and called it a day. I didn't even get to break out my Al Pacino, "You're out of order! Your whole court's out of order!" routine.
Meanwhile, the alphabetism continues. But I'll get even one day. Doesn't it say in the Bible, "The last shall be first, and the first shall be last?" Let's see who's laughing then.
But there is blatant form of discrimination that still goes on, and nobody does a durn thing about it, and I'm angry because I'm one of the victims.
I am talking about alphabetism, which is discrimination against those of us whose last names start with a letter found near the caboose of the alphabet.
It began in kindergarten. We were organized in alphabetical order. We sat in our seats that way, we lined up that way, and we got in line for lunch that way. So while Kay Adams and Jimmy Bass were always going first, living large, people like me and Jimmy Zminski were always bringing up the rear. What did we do to deserve this?
Think of the poor kids at high school graduations whose names are Thompson or Wilson or Young. By the time they get their diploma, the crowd has gotten so rowdy you can't hear a word, because the idiot parents are celebrating the last positive thing their child will ever do, graduate from high school.
You'd think you might grow out of this as you become an adult, but no. I was victimized again today when I had to appear in traffic court on a charge of failure to yield. Which is not true. I yielded, just not soon enough. Is it my fault the other driver had the reflexes of a sloth and couldn't avoid my mini-van?
I missed my original court time and had to go to a later session, so for a few hours, I was actually a fugitive from the law. That made me feel kind of cool and dangerous. What did I do while I was on the lam, you ask? Well, I answered a few e-mails. I surfed the Web for a bit. Had a nice grilled chicken salad down in the company cafeteria. There's nothing like living on the edge.
When I did show up for court, they called us in front of the judge - you guessed it - in alphabetical order. How is this fair?
I was getting nervous, because the judge was asking people why they had missed their court date, and fining them $100 for doing so. One guy missed his court date because, he said, "I was incarcerated at the time." The judge noted that a second date had been set and missed, and the guy said, "I was re-incarcerated at that time." The judge found this plausible, and waived the $100 charge. I thought it was a decent thing to do.
The afternoon had its moments. One pudgy frat boy, whose first name was Rollins (of course it was) pleaded guilty to speeding, then told the judge, "If it makes a difference, I was trying to get to my new job on my first day." The judge affixed him with a look reminiscent of Strother Martin in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, when he says to Robert Redford and Paul Newman, "Morons. I've got morons on my team."
I was the last person to be called, and I had my excuse ready. I won't bore you with it, but it involved a bus accident, a fire, and me heroically saving 17 Guatemalan children from sure death. But the judge was tired by this time, too, because he waived my failure to appear charge before I could even open my mouth, accepted my "no contest" plea, and called it a day. I didn't even get to break out my Al Pacino, "You're out of order! Your whole court's out of order!" routine.
Meanwhile, the alphabetism continues. But I'll get even one day. Doesn't it say in the Bible, "The last shall be first, and the first shall be last?" Let's see who's laughing then.
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