Of Drunken Men and Pinatas

A blog entry written not too long ago, though it has faded in my memory enough that it could be years past.

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As my life has progressed, I've faded in and out of a blogging habit. There was a time when I wrote ranbling, drawn-out stories of how my day had gone in some futile effort to garnish some form of attention from the few friends who read it. But the desire to share my life so fully with random people left me to return some months later as a stronger desire to write about things abstract or to wander my way through subjects I thought were interesting. But, in the end, this, too, simply left.

But now I am jobless, and in dire need of something to do with my time. So I do the one thing that comes naturally to me. I write. And, sad though it is, the writing that comes easiest is not always fictitious. I wish it were.

Today, I've decided to tackle the subject of people and socialising. Because it fascinates me and because it's been on my mind. I'll start with a short story.

Early this morning, not much past midnight, as the Canada Day revelries wound to a close, I found myself squeezing aboard an LRT in one of Edmonton's train stations. The car was packed with people and I made a comment to a few of them that if the train were to collide with anything, we would at least be safe, since our close proximity didn't allow for much jostling.

As the train pulled to a stop at another station, the door directly to my right slid open, revealing a leering, drunken man. Rude and abrasive, he called into the car with an offer to “cop a feel” from anyone inside. Naturally, this struck me as repulsive, but his drunken state also awakened a bit of humour and I tried to keep a straight face as I drilled a look into his eyes that spoke clearly of his need to back away.

He noticed. That is, he noticed me. And proceeded to direct his offer directly toward yours truly. Words failed me and a small grin found its way through. Thinking that it would provide him with more entertainment, I pointed out to the platform, where a trash can sat, rather artistically I might add.

His reply wasn't much more than a slurred, “fuck you,” but again, struck me as vastly hysterical as I bid him a good night. He got the parting shot, though. As the train pulled away, the people inside the train car burst into laughter at the sight of his drunken, rude gesture.

So this long and possibly arduous story brings me to my question. People, in general, when seen face to face, are usually quite polite. Go to any social gathering and you're bound to run across someone who's having a bad day but nobody even notices because it's so well hidden.

People are fantastic at creating masks for themselves. Masks that look so much like themselves that hardly anybody can see through it, and that at great effort. It makes me wonder. After all, isn't life a more joyful experience when we can be open and honest with one another? Not with every subject, mind you, but it seems to me that hard times call for assistance. And what are friends for if not to haul their comrades through the mire of life and back onto the green grass?

But it isn't “socially acceptable,” is it? The only times when people are treated with forgiveness for being rude or indecent is when they're intoxicated somehow and that's only because they can't control themselves any better.

I'm not saying it would be better for us to do shots until the dam breaks, though I'm sure there's a place for that as well, but I am curious as to why we build these walls around ourselves. Seems to me that life would be much simpler without all this red tape and pretense.

After all, isn't the castle the marvel of architecture and not the walls that surround it? I can speak for no one but myself, but I say what's on the inside is always more beautiful than the paper mache that surrounds it.