Ammo Grrrll reflects that everybody must get credited in GIMME CREDIT. She writes:
Something there is in the human spirit that really hates failing to get credit for a minor good deed or accomplishment. Remember the classic Seinfeld episode where Elaine gets credit for a “Big Salad” that George actually paid for? Things like that do not only upset self-absorbed neurotics! Let’s face it – it rankles to have someone else take credit for your work.
In one of my Important Life Lessons upon turning 75, I noted that I was going to need some kind of clapper system to locate missing items. One of those items was my little step-counter that attaches to my belt loop or fits in my pocket. I try for 10,000 steps a day, down from 12,000 which began to hurt my knees. Never a fan of the “less is more” philosophy, I have always believed that if 100 minutes of daily walking is good, then 2 hours would be even better. It turned out to be untrue, probably Russian disinformation.
Anyhoo, I had changed jeans and had apparently laid the step-counting device on the bed where it disappeared in the exuberant pattern of my quilt. I spent 20 minutes looking all over the house for it and was quite disturbed that I was not getting CREDIT for all those steps! In the smarter regions of my brain, I can say, “Grow up. You are GETTING the steps, no matter if the device is recording them or not.” But in my whiny little Inner Child brain, I am thinking, “Waaaah, it’s not FAIR.” I don’t know about YOU, but there are many days when my Inner Child could use a lengthy Time Out. Perhaps in Maui.
How crummy does it feel to hand a fiver to the fit-looking young man claiming to be a homeless vet panhandling by the freeway exit and then not even get the traditional “God Bless You”? A lot like letting an impatient driver merge on the freeway who does not understand that that REQUIRES a little wave of the hand.
“Well, dang it, he must not be a Minnesotan. The little wave is an important part of the Social Compact! It says ‘I recognize that you just did me a wee favor and I appreciate it!’ Now I’m sorry I let him in. I should have just kissed the bumper of the car ahead of me and let H-E-double hockey sticks freeze over before I let him in.”
Isn’t it disheartening when you leave two bucks in the tip jar on a $5.00 cup of coffee and at that very minute the barista turns her back and does not see you put the money in the jar??!
“Well, shoot, I can’t just dig in the jar and take it out and put it in again when she’s looking. There are all kinds of people in line. That looks as stupid as a Large-Breasted Israel-Bashing Caterwauling Dodo Bird wearing a $25,000 dress that says ‘Tax the rich.’ BAD OPTICS!!”
You casually mention to the barista, “Uh, yeah, no, I put some money in the jar,” but you can tell from the look on her face when she says, “Thanks,” that she is thinking, “Sure you did, you cheap old Boomer, sure you did.”
The only thing worse than not getting credit for something you DID do, is getting BLAME for something you did NOT do. As a somewhat, uh, disruptive influence through much of my schooling, the latter happened to me quite frequently. Once you have the reputation as a Repeat Offender, you better be wearing a permanent bodycam to exonerate yourself.
I guess the ultimate role model for whining about misplaced blame would be the late, great Bob Marley, who insisted “I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy.” Like that is going to be a mitigating circumstance that will make things go better for him. In the lyrics, he comes up with a pretty good rationale for self-defense for shooting the sheriff, but he repeatedly insists he “did not shoot the deputy.” And he certainly seems aggrieved and sincere.
If only he had lived in Chicago instead of Jamaica, he could have just claimed that he was involved in a “combat situation” and walked free courtesy of Soros-funded D.A. Dim Kim Foxx. If you study the lyrics, Marley comes darn close to saying exactly that. The Sheriff never liked him, wanted to kill him, fired at him, and he returned fire: COMBAT!!
I want to say parenthetically here that I fear I inadvertently ruined a young man’s day once in Walmart. A very hip, nice-looking black teenager with various tattoos and dreadlocks was wearing a Bob Marley T-shirt and this short old grey-haired white lady with a fanny pack came right up to him and said, “I saw Marley live in Minneapolis in the ’70s before you were born. He was great.” He probably went home and burned the shirt. In truth, it was probably before his MOTHER was born!
And even more parenthetically I want to say that Mr. Marley impressed the heck out of me by having no special fanfare at all for his arrival on stage. A lot of stars stick the sidemen and some backup singers out there to whip up the audience and then, with a big announcement, come onstage. Marley let the backup guys play part of one song and then, suddenly, he was just THERE, having appeared from the back. Righteous!
A few paragraphs back – I am becoming more like my heroine, Emily Litella, every day – I referred to the all-important unwritten Social Compact. Just a few years ago one of the most reliable ways for a celebrity to get a viral mugshot was to say at a routine traffic stop: “Do you know who I AM?” Americans don’t care for that sort of thing, Law Enforcement in particular.
I took a college course once in which I learned that in France people are very class-conscious and think nothing of letting someone of a perceived higher status budge a line. In America, that is grounds for a good shellackin’. Or was. Now the pretend President of the United States thinks nothing of bragging that he arranged for a friend to get medical attention not available to the unimportant regular shlub. The two-tiered “justice” system could not be more obvious. Or more dangerous to the body politic.
There is a political Party that hates merit — Gifted Programs, valedictorians, and getting into college without 400 extra points gifted to you because of your color. But this same Party believes that masks and social distancing are for Walmart-shopping losers while partying all night long at the Met or with Obama, mask-less and free, is for them. Rules – and they make them up as they go along – were always meant for peons, not the cool kids.
We’ll see. Americans are a patient, conservative people. But pulling rank, especially in law, in medicine, is something up with which they will not put. The “third rail” is messing with the minds, lives and safety of our kids. It is not only the most important thing, but one that crosses all race and gender divisions. Have these Maoist freaks never seen a mother bear and cubs?
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