Our divisiveness grows every day, and my generation is the worst. We come together like a hospital gown. For my age range, that shows way too much ass. The fences that made good neighbors have become walls of rage.
I’m coming in off the road, trying to make it back home as the winter sun goes down. I pound my Prius north on I-5. I’m so hungry. Then I see the red and yellow sign of an In-N-Out Burger.
I enter the drive-thru line and stop beside the teenager in a white paper hat with an iPad balanced on her forearm. Her brilliant smile is adorned with braces; she looks happy to greet me. I say, “One burger,” and she beams.
I pull up behind a gigantic white pickup truck with American flags all over it. It’s got dual exhaust pipes three feet off the ground that pump out carbon monoxide with the rhythm of a death metal band let’s call Respiratory Ailment.
I’m nauseous, I can’t breathe, the poisonous gas closes my throat, so I stop and let the behemoth get way ahead of me. This messes up the operation of the drive-thru. For the windows to work efficiently you’re supposed to keep moving ahead, and now I’m slowing the process for everyone. Cars behind me honk, someone yells, one gestures with his hand. I can’t help it—I gotta breathe.
I start making up stories about the pickup truck driver. I begin with what I imagine is his political view (“I bet I know who you voted for”) and devolve into stereotypes of who I imagine is in the big truck.
“Why all the flags, pal? Got a short-term memory problem about what country you’re in? I bet you are making fun of my Prius right now, a candy ass liberal’s excuse for transportation. Sorry that I accept the science regarding climate change. Your truck looks like you should join the caravan to attend the president’s campaign event where he uses kerosene and matches for the ceremonial Lighting of the Cross. Your truck is so white I bet it has a favorite NASCAR driver. Your truck is so white I bet cops tell it that it is free to go, while I have to deal with you not getting vaccinated so you can stand up for your right to get laid off and die. Why?Because you don’t know what chemicals are in the vaccine. Oh, I see you’re getting a Coke, like you have any idea what chemicals are in that.”
I degenerate into insults about his mother and turn the air in my little car blue with profanity.
When I get to the pay window the young man in the white hat says, “Here’s your burger. No charge.”
“What?”
“The guy in front of you paid for yours.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He said something about apologizing for the exhaust.”
I am humbled. I was making up stories about a guy who was paying it backwards.
Stereotypes are pattern recognition.
They are useful if we keep in mind they are rarely absolute.