Chaos Reconsidered

I have a perverse enjoyment.  It’s one I can’t seem to shake regardless of how hard I try.  There is no patch, gum, or therapy group that can help.  I know I should be disgusted by it but I’m not.

My secret kick is CHAOS in small doses. 

I enjoy standing aside while carefully laid plans unravel like a homemade afghan.  When students rush the hallway to witness a fight, I understand.

I giggle and clap my hands watching crazed shoppers burst through mall doors.  Grown women fighting over a Barf-On-Me-Sicko toy makes me laugh out loud!  As long as I’m watching at home from the comfort of a plush recliner.

When unexpected wave of winter weather throws school schedules into spasms, I smile.  A grin escapes my control whenever a faculty meeting turns into a great debate on issues that cannot be controlled.  I’m a kid at a puppet show!

Of course, three very specific rules must be in play.  One, I must have no ability to repair the situation.  If there is something I can do, my glee is replaced with guilt.  Secondly and this is important, it can’t be my fault.  My clapping hands must be clean.  And finally, the negative results cannot negatively effect my own situation in any way.

Strangely enough, I can’t stand the reality programming that has an ugly headlock on all 5000 television channels.  Each show seems so staged and contrived that it’s a little like Chaos-in-a-Can.  And watching the daytime freak (I mean talk) shows is exactly like watching professional wrestling in place of real sports.

Nope, I like confusion genuine and fresh squeezed but not too tart.

For instance…

Two friends and I had just driven up to a popular fast food restaurant.  We exited the car and were about to step away from our vehicles when David grabbed my arm.  “Wait, look over there.  Boy she is really going at him!”

Chris and I followed David’s eyes toward a brand new pickup where a female in the restaurant’s uniform was berating the young man.  He was sitting red faced in the driver’s seat. 

I listened for a bit.  Gathering her intent wasn’t hard.  The girl was yelling almost at the top of her lungs.  Apparently, she was upset the guy had ventured out and purchased a new pickup on his own without her knowledge.

“It’s a rookie mistake.”  I smugly told myself.  “If they’re married, there’s no way he should have done that without her knowing.  Of course, most guys make it a large television.  This guy is setting a new standard for bone headedness.  But wow, she is really tearing him a new one.”

Chris spoke up.  “C’mon, I don’t want to watch this.  I’m hungry and it isn’t for dinner theater.”

“Hold on.”  David waved him off.  “I want to know how many fireworks are in this package.”

I did too, although I wanted to be discrete about it.  David was staring at the drama like it was Mount Rushmore. 

We didn’t have to wait long before the embarrassed male had absorbed his fill of scolding.  He took his frustration out by slamming the shifter into reverse then hitting the accelerator.  The young man would have been wise to also invest a little angst into his review mirror.  He smashed into a full-size sedan packed to the gills with old women.

The girl crumpled to the asphalt right where she had stood.

I let out a deep breath.  “Man, that’s terrible.  I went from a chaos high to hangover just like that.  Maybe we shouldn’t have watched after all.  What a bummer.”

“There,” Chris interjected.  “Can I go in and get my number one now?”

Author: Phantaveous Ghast

I'd rather teach giant roaches to do circus tricks on a street corner in Haiti than wear a pair of skinny jeans.

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