Small Considerations

I drove to the grocery store today for a few essential items, no more than I could carry in one hand. On days like this, I opt for the hand baskets that are usually located somewhere near the door into the grocery store rather than use a four-wheeled shopping cart. I did my shopping, went to the checkout aisle, emptied my basket onto the conveyor.

When I went to put my basket in the area below the conveyor where the baskets normally go, I was disturbed (but hardly surprised) to see a massive jumble of these baskets, some with their handles folded inward, some stuck in sideways. It was a mess, and would need to be dismantled and reassembled. I took the time to do this so that I could put my basket in properly.

Would it have required any greater effort for those who came before me to have put their baskets down properly? These are the little things that happen when we, as society, stop giving a crap. A person who puts the basket down there haphazardly doesn't care about the customer coming to that checkout aisle after him. He doesn't care about the employees who will have to later go fix the problem he created. He doesn't care that the baskets become damaged from being smashed into jumbled piles, rather than stacked neatly. He doesn't care that you might get the damaged basket, but I am pretty sure that he will be the first person to complain about how poorly the store is run when he gets a damaged basket!

When I was walking out to my car, I noticed another interesting phenomenon of human grocery behavior. A person will usually walk past a dozen shopping carts on his way to the grocery store's door. At that door, he will usually take a "fresh" shopping cart from the long row of carts that have been gathered by the cart gathering folk. But why is that? Why will they walk past all those other carts, only to take one from a different location? Do people feel that the carts in the parking lot are "used" and therefore inferior? Do they not realize that the stacks of carts near the door are just as used?

Further, why are those carts in the parking lot? Are we so lazy, or in such a hurry, that we can't return the carts to where they belong? When those carts are left in the parking lot, they present hazards to the other cars that are parked there. They can cause dents in other peoples cars. They can roll into a roadway. They can take up valuable parking spaces (like handicapped spaces) without reason.

In your efforts to reduce your burden upon humanity, do the following things:
1) Put your basket NEATLY into the stack of baskets at the end of the conveyor.
2) If the stack is a jumble, don't just throw yours onto the jumbled pile. Fix it.
3) If you bring your groceries to your car in a shopping cart, bring the cart back where it belongs after you've unloaded your groceries. Don't just leave it in the parking lot and drive away.
4) If someone else has left a shopping cart in the parking lot, and you happen to need one, use it! Don't walk past a bunch of functional carts!
5) Even if you DON'T happen to need a shopping cart, if there is one in the parking lot that someone else left there (because they are inconsiderate), bring it with you, and put it back where it belongs.

Really, is it that hard to just be considerate in this small way? We want the world to change and we want everyone to be better to each other, but we can't even stack freakin' grocery baskets.

Pitstop Before Bed

While weaving some chainmail tonight, I was watching The History Channel. They were showing a program about the evolution of bullets. (I wasn't really interested in the history of bullets, but I had a pair of pliers in each hand, and operating the remote was too great a challenge.) Toward the end of the program, the spokesman for a particular firearms company proudly boasted and demonstrated their creation: a single weapon capable of a rate of fire in excess of one million rounds per minute.

Take a moment, and try to conceive what that really means.

Sixty seconds. One million rounds.

The question that first sprang into my mind was, "What the hell could your target possibly be to cause you to use a weapon like this?" If the object you're shooting toward doesn't die within, say, the first 50,000 rounds (3 seconds), it's a fair bet to say the next 950,000 are just going to piss it off even more.

What really struck me, though, was the zeal, the facial expression of this company's representative, as he spoke proudly about their technical achievement. He was absolutely thrilled that they were capable of producing it, and from a purely scientific perspective, I suppose it really is a technical marvel. But I don't think there is a single person on the planet who would argue that this device will, in any way, benefit humanity. The engineers who design things like this are probably paid substantial sums to do their work, and this is where failure of conscience is evident. People who put human conscience before them could not possibly create these things. This is the type of job at which I would put down my drafting pencil, and simply walk away.

Chainmail armor has been proven completely ineffectual against bullets from any era, regardless of the armor's material composition, weave density, weave style, and assembly method.

Counting Backwards from One Zillion

"Do you know what your problem is?" Her hands were clamped around her hips, her head tilted slightly forward and to the side in a mixture of genuine concern, and genuine antagonism.

He stirred the amber drink in his hand with his pinky, the icecubes clacking dully against the glass as they spun. "From the manner of your address," he replied without taking his eyes from the painting he was studying, "I suspect several things. First, you believe that I don't know what 'my problem' is. Second, you believe that you, however, do know what 'my problem' is. Third, you presume to treat me to your assessment despite my sincere assertion that I am not interested in hearing it. Finally, by revealing your perspicacious observation to me, you mean to induce me to reflect and undergo some kind of transformation as a result of hearing it." He withdrew his pinky from his drink, stuck it in his mouth, and pulled it free with an audible pucker as he shifted his eyes to regard her sidelong. "Am I correct?"

She did not miss the hint of a smirk that tugged the corner of his mouth. Arrogant! Her hands came away from her hips as she took two short steps toward him, but she resisted the urge to thrust her index finger under his chin. His defenses were already up, and she did not wish to compel him to further fortification. Her outward serenity and composure persevered against her impulse to scold him. "No, Nathan," she responded gently, looking down at him with eyes as full of sentiment and earnest as she could manage, "you are not correct."

A flicker of incredulity, the tiniest expression of doubt, passed over his face and was gone, replaced by his characteristic smugness. It had not been much, but she had seen it. Although he had probably estimated dozens of potential responses from her, his brief skepticism meant that either he had not considered the fallability of his conclusions, or he knew that she had lied. He had accurately described her intent, but perhaps surprise would keep him unbalanced if she did not admit it. She took another tentative step forward, delaying momentarily as she realigned her thoughts around the ruse she had begun.

He did not shrink from her when she placed her hand lightly on his sleeve, but she nearly retracted it when his eyebrow lept into an arch. She continued, investing in her new tack. "Your brilliance is regarded by everyone as inestimable, and none would dare propose their own small notions to you -- especially not those of us who know and love you best. Especially not me." She gave him her most adoring smile and let her hand rest more firmly on his forearm. "It would serve no purpose to insinuate any concept to such intellectuals when it is assured that those concepts have been previously considered, and subsequently assimilated or rejected."

He turned to face the painting again, but did not pull away from her. Emboldened, she continued. "I misspoke before. I did not mean that I intended to apprise you of some flaw that you possess. I meant to entertain you, as I have been entertained, with the silly rumors that fly amongst our friends, aloft on winds stirred by simpler minds. I thought it might make you smile, or even laugh."

"Do you know the origin of this painting?" he asked, gesturing with his beverage.

Her resolve withered slightly at his response. She had hoped to engage him, but he meant to evade. She also knew that he would be irritated if she attempted to bring the conversation back under her topic; instead, she assented to his whim and offered, "Of course I do. You have spoken of it before."

"In those times, I bet it was easy to smile, and to laugh. I remember how I used to--"

"Nathan," she interrupted, "I detest that painting and wish you would never look at it ever again. It is horrible."

His shock was barely concealed, but he recovered quickly. "This is, perhaps, the most profound work of beauty ever created, Lydia. You said as much when it was purchased, and again when it was hung here. How can you now say that it is horrible?"

"It is horrible because it is a lie!" she protested. "How often you 'remember' things as they appear through these smudges of paint! We are here, and we are real. Here, our home, our friends. They are real, Nathan. The circumstances that brought us here, to this room, to this chair," she shook his wheelchair roughly, causing his drink to spill over onto his hand. "They are real. Do you believe that, because this painting does not depict suffering, there must have been none to depict? You feel that you are suffering now because of what has happened, that you have suffered greatly and are trying to reestablish or understand your place in the world. But that is the painting, Nathan. You are not struggling against a world that will not conform to your needs and desires, or cannot accommodate you and your condition. Your problem is that you are nostalgic for a world that never was, nor can ever be!"

A drop of scotch clung to the underside of his hand a moment more, then let go and fell away. He set the glass down on the table beside him, watching the liquid pool around the bottom. It would leave a stain on the wood. Wordlessly, he operated the controls of his chair and maneuvered around her, leaving her hand suspended in air where it had rested on his arm.

As the whir of the electric motor diminished down the hallway with him, her hand fell to her side.

On Humanity

Like others have done before me, I fear for the decline of human society and social conscience. Generally, we are inconstant as the wind, often quick to judge, and too quick to dismiss or abandon others for their foibles. I have witnessed how quickly people will set aside their allegiances for some perceived benefit or personal gain, and although these gains are usually illusory, the perfidy through which they are attained is real, and permanent. These things I have done myself, and have lived with regret -- but have learned from my mistakes.

As you are aware, my successful career as a computer engineer came to a sudden halt with the onset of an insidious and unforgiving illness. Were it not for the benevolence of my fiance, I do not know what would have become of me -- but I know it would be very little. In the time since then, I have necessarily turned from a man of fortune and status into a man of virtue and humility, but not without a great deal of agonizing frustration and lament. Although I scrabbled desperately to hold onto my career while searching for a cure, it was a struggle against the inevitable, and I ultimately lost. However, what I suffered from most greatly was not my illness or its symptoms. It was realization that, when my career was gone, my fortune spent, my arrogant self-importance demolished, and my belief in myself as indestructable removed, all that remained was insubstantial, amorphous, and without merit. It was the realization that, up until that time, I represented a great deal of what is wrong with our society, and very little of what is right.

As I set out to design the coat of arms for my married House, I have spent a considerable amount of time thinking about heraldric symbols and their meanings. I have encountered two essential questions as a result of this effort. The first: Does this symbol represent what I am, or does it represent what I would like to be? The second: Why is there a difference between what I am, and what I would like to be? The answer to the first is a matter of perspective and subjectivity, and will waver until there is no second question to ask. The answer to the second question is...the frailty of human conscience.

If we find there is a difference between who we are and who we wish to be, the cause can invariably be traced back to a failing of conscience. We are trained, in our corporate social upcoming, as predators who prey not only upon each other, but unwittingly upon ourselves as a result. We strip the flesh from the bones of integrity so that we may dominate over the skeletal, wasted remains of society, and in our predation, arrive at destinations at which we have neither reason nor desire to be. We only seem to realize these things when they are presented to us as reflections of ourselves, mirrored in the eyes and hearts of those from whom integrity has not fled, or whom we regard as superior, not because they are socially elite, but because their tenacity to basic human virtue remains. The second question IS this reflection, and if it requires an answer, the answer will always be the fragility of human conscience. By making decisions in our lives with human conscience as the most important consideration, we most reliably assure that there is not, and will not be, a difference between the person we are and the person we would like to be -- not because we fail to perceive a difference, but because we know in our hearts that they are the same.

A friend of mine said to me, "It is easy to stand upon principle when principle is all that remains for one to stand upon." Her point was that, because I am no longer faced with a barrage of daily challenges to my ethics (I'm pretty sheltered), I am placed in a position to unfairly judge the actions of others. We must not judge others, though, as that is very certainly the pathway to hypocrisy. However, if we believe that someone has acted unethically or without conscience, we must not allow it to pass without remark. This is not meant as judgment, but is designed to raise the question in that person's mind as to whether they have followed their own conscience in their actions, and allow them to judge themselves. If, by this mechanism, that person later scruples over a decision of ethics, then humanity has benefitted. Unethical actions persist in our society because we allow them to persist. Every time we turn a blind eye, we signify our acceptance, give a stronger foothold to unethical behavior, and encourage those who act without conscience. Denying them this victory is one of the most difficult challenges to human conscience, as it is usually accompanied by tremendous personal sacrifice.