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January 21 Enemy Mine“Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.”
~ Winston Churchill
“It's hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head.”
~ Sally Kempton
“Enemy fighters at two o’clock”.
“Roger. What should I do until then?”
~ Bill Watterson
What Is Weird About Me #5
In my journey through the valley of shadow I have learned many things when it comes to my enemy and for the most part, it is has nothing to do with another persons acrimonious feelings to you or vice a versa. Oh I know that these types are out there; everything from the fellow office worker who has it out for you to the full blown terrorist, who would love nothing better than to see you dead simply because you are not like them. A watchful eye can and should always be out for these types and if necessary, enjoined in battle with careful steps to ensure we do not become like them in the process. My Enemy are cold and calculating, with no truer purpose to their existence than to make sure that they instill within me an anger that would make Darth Vader truly proud to call me ‘Son’. They are more insidious than the human or animal entity because when wronged by such as these, we can always turn to the law for help. But My Enemy is not of flesh and blood and when it comes to the battle, I cannot turn to the law, because they are the law, and I must battle them alone with nary a Sancho Panza to aid me. No pleading, no begging and no quarter given. I hate them.
Don Quixote had his windmills to slay, Saint George his dragon, Gandalf his Saurman, Captain Ahab against the great heart of the ocean; Moby Dick, and I Rocas, must battle every pre-dawn hour, five days a week with the heart of darkness:
TRAFFIC LIGHTS.
Oh I mean more than just your toss of an expletive deleted at these cruel automatons. What I’m talking about is a full out menu of curses; both the foul language and mystical spell casting kind, with all the crucial hand gesturing that goes with it. I’m talking about heaps of ridicule tossed upon these uncaring drones while I sit there and wait for phantom cars to come out of empty shopping mall parking lots and deserted cross streets at 3:30 in the morning.
Now let me plead my case for those of you who have decided (and rightfully so) that I am a nut job. I live in central New Jersey and commute five days a week to Delaware where I work. That’s 225 miles and 4 ½ hours round trip each day. I used to work 12 miles from my home to a job I absolutely hated. When that facility closed down, I accepted a job with the same company 112 miles from my home. I do the same work I did before with virtually the same people, but this time it’s a job I truly like and yes I know, I am Bass Ackwards. But I have always loved to drive, especially at night and so far so good, the commute really doesn't bother me. When I tell people of my commute however, they look at me as though I had two heads and a heinous booger dangling from my nose (STOP LOOKING AT MY NOSE!). The reason (and not me) is very simple; At the time I took the job, my son still had two years of high school to go and there was no way in hell that I was going to make him basically start all over again with new school and friends simply for my convenience. Once he starts college, momma and I can go wherever we seem fit, including staying put if need be.
Now if you were to know me personally you would find that I am a pretty calm and friendly individual who always tries to find the better nature in everyone I deal with, no matter if they happen to be a rotten son of a bitch. However, if you were to see me in the wee hours of the morning as I verbally combat these assailers of my smooth cruise into work, you would undoubtfully ask yourself one of two things; ‘Do the bars stay open this late into the night?’ Or ‘I wonder if this would be considered a mercy killing?’
Aside from the very beginning and end, the trip is all highway and it is the first hour of local highway that contains this battlefield. Alone in the night, I can see the enemy approaching for some distance off. It is usually green from the first moment I spot it way off yonder and it remains that way until just before I would reach the point of no return, where I would be able to safely and legally cruise thru it.
It doesn’t matter if I speed up or slow down because they watch and wait. There are 28 traffic lights between me and my goal, and I know them all by name. There are the ‘3 witch sisters’ who are clustered very close together and who’s timing is so far off that a person using a walker would beat me through these bitches. There is ‘Mordicai the Night Mechanic’, this one likes to turn from red to green as I get closer to it, only to turn red again just in time for me to have to hit the breaks. And then there is ‘Sidekick Seditious’, a blinking light at this time of the morning with the yield to me. This one has a partner in the way of a truck or car that, if this significant other had not been there, would have allowed me an easy breeze through. Yet as sure as there is a God in Heaven and a bill in my mailbox, I can always count on this lone motorized counterpart to be there and going just slow enough to force me to a complete stop. I mean come on people, does no one else see the hand of Satan here!
Among the others are Wormwood, Zorn - Destroyer of Hope, Ming the Merciless, Romulus the Spiteful and of course Robert (named after a boyhood nemesis that I to this day fantasize about running into). The rest are unpronounceable because by the time I get to them, I am literally speaking in tongues or, they are too foul in nature to put down in print (my mother may be watching).
Eventually I reach the gatekeeper to the smooth flowing interstate highway, and its name is Scorn. Always green, but as I view its retreating image for several miles in my rearview mirror, I can see its glee and hear its fading laughter which promises that tomorrow is another day.
The dark envelop of the highway now comforts me; the soothing refrains of Enya now calm me (stop laughing, I like Enya!). These next 72 miles will restore me to functional human status. I begin my workday in a potentially hostile manufacturing environment knowing that I will be calm and professional because when it comes to stress: Been there, done that.
The ride home in the afternoon is as normal for me as everyone else. The lights behave themselves and appear to have no black soul at all, just simple machines with a pre-programmed, non-prejudicial task and I am treated no worse than the hundreds of other drivers around me. I suspect that this is because there are too many witnesses on the road. Clever Bastards.
Day becomes evening and then night and as I prepare for bed, I think on the morning past and realize that it is a battle waged in my head alone, That there are no demons on the highway and that it is probably stress from the previous day that is finally making its way to the surface.
“Go to bed and get some rest”, I say to myself. “Tomorrow is another day”.
I crawl into bed and read a couple pages from my book (which is currently ‘Murder Most Scottish’), Turn out the light, Kiss my wife goodnight and drift off to sleep.
2:30am
The alarm clock rings.
© 2007
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