Tonight, I'd like to talk about tact and decorum, subtlety and manners.
I'd like to, but I'm not, because I'm going to be talking about humans.
I had to take a small business trip to Detroit this week, and I opted for a State Park campground, rather than a hotel, since I am able to sleep much better in the former, than the latter. There's just something about being in a comfortable room with no screaming kids around that makes it impossible for me to write or sleep in. I just belong in nature.
And then there were humans. The cabin next to mine was occupied by about eight teenage girls of various ages, and one boy I would guess to be about fifteen who was brother to the largest part of the group. Needless to say, the 'missing the screaming kids' problem was nonexistent after this point.
Through a soundtrack of Christian rock emanating from their CD player, a hail of swearing and moderately off-color stories wafted across the campground with sufficient volume to be heard clearly by all. The only intermission to this being a short 'check up' visit from their father on the second day of their stay.
Across the way, an older fellow got into a shouting match over a citation he was given by the park ranger for 'driving off-road in an undesignated area'. That, translated, means that he couldn't back his trailer into the campsite, so he pulled straight through across another site to park it. Thus, we revisit the idea that, if you wish to own a vehicle (including trailers and RVs), you should have to take a training course to learn how to drive it. As I've said before, most people on the road today should be driving Volkswagen Beetles and such.
Not to be upstaged, the 'girls next door' began to wonder where their eldest sister had gotten to. Their brother, whom I had already begun to feel sorry for, announced that he would go find her. As I sat at the picnic table in front of my own cabin, writing stories and eating my steak sandwich, he walked past, disappearing down the road to the lake. Short minutes after, he comes back around the bend, announcing to everyone that she "fell asleep at the lake," and that "she looks like a friggin' tomato!"
Shortly behind the brother came the sister who, from two cabins away, announced to her group (and the campground at large) that, "my boobs are white, and the rest of me is glowing!" Thinking that wasn't exposition enough, she pulled off her bikini top to provide two, large visual aids for anyone who couldn't grasp the concept she was conveying.
**Please note, I didn't take any pictures, so don't email me. Thank you.**
Needless to say, things went downhill from there. I like to think it was Karma that sent the platoon of Raccoons upon them as they sat about their campfire, that night.
As with most of my observations of humans, both in the wild and in their native habitats, subtlety is a lost art. For any who doubt this conclusion, I invite you to look upon the current administration and any number of their actions. Or you could look at our history of conflicts.
War is the ultimate opposite of subtlety. Whether conventional or nuclear, a bomb is a rather rude interruption to the flow of someone's day. As if that's not enough, before they are deployed, our troops write insulting messages on them.
Whether we are looking at troops at war, citizens in conflict with authority, or loud, exhibitionist girls with a very henpecked brother, I believe we're seeing both a psychological need to be understood and an inability to tell when the subject's point has been made. Call it a 'malfunctioning barometer', if you will. One part of the brain is not paying attention to what the other parts are trying to accomplish, thus the mouth and body keep rambling and gesticulating long after everyone gets the idea.
Not being a psychologist, I cannot speculate as to the treatment or cure for this failing, if such it can be called. I can only suggest observation from a distance and, of course, a little popcorn to go with the show.
