On A Witch Hunt

Coming from the east coast, I take a “Guilty until proven innocent” approach to new acquaintances. There are too many wackos, nut jobs, and people in search of someone to doctor their emotional wounds for me to waste my time being nice to strangers.

To prove your innocence you must demonstrate that you operate under the same assumption of guilt that I do. Only those who know they cannot pass are delinquent in providing the test to others. By smiling politely when I don’t know you, you’re signing a confession.

But the west coast folks are chill.

They subscribe to the system of justice that let OJ walk. I have found myself in the land of the eternally cheerful. Who love everyone. Equal opportunity acquaintance collectors.
Here, my judgment seems unnecessarily cruel. So, I repealed my decisions on a few people my roommate liked. People I had already condemned.

I ended up in a car for twelve hours with a guy who couldn’t make a single decision on his own. Our trip began as follows:

Him: Should I bring CD’s?

Me: Sure.

How many should I bring?

However many – whatever you think is good driving music.

But should I just bring a few or the whole case?

Well – if you want to bring the whole case I certainly have room in the car.

But how many should I bring?

(sigh) Five.

Five? Are you sure? We’re going to be in the car for like -- 12 hours.


But maybe he should have asked my opinion more often. Later that trip:

I’m drifting off to sleep, he’s driving in the left lane on the 101.

Him: My God!

He signals, shifts to second, jerks the car over a lane, and quickly slows to 50. I’m fully awake, looking ahead to see the accident we just avoided becoming part of. Nothing.

Hooo. . . I was going 90 there for a second I just needed a TIME OUT.

So, I’ve started my own collection of people with whom I can freely criticize others. My people are not conventionally pleasant. My fellow judgers detest Ohio, shred my fashion decisions, openly express their hatred of Westwood, and create websites detailing the shortcomings of former friends. Cruel. . . but sane.