[1177] Fingerguns

To be sure, "emotionally," I'm not really feeling anything, but a road rage incident I was just involved in is clearly occupying my thoughts.

I'm in Indianapolis, notable for its statistically aberrantly high amount of road rage shootings both lately and over the last few years. I was coming off 465 headed to my newly taken up spot for killing time while school is in session. I had the light, but noticed a white Chevrolet truck speeding through, running a red light. The driver already had his middle finger up before crossing the intersection, positioned for me to see it as he goes by. I honk.

He drives a bit further up the road, stops in the middle and waits for me to catch up. I drive past, but towards a line of cars stacked enough that he can pull up next to me. Skinny white trash mouthing, "I'll fucking kill you, say anything, I'll fucking pop you, I fucking dare you." He points at me with his fingers mimicking a gun. The light turns green, I wait a moment to see if he will start driving. He sits there and I begin to move. He starts driving, continuing to keep pace and mouthing and motioning gun-finger threats. He pulls behind me and proceeds to follow. He does so long enough that I have time to call the police, describe the vehicle and point out several streets we're passing over. I see him continuing to mouth and threaten in my rear view before he cuts over 3 lanes, U-turns, and begins going the other direction.  

This morning, I was playing basketball with kids. I'm planning a drive home to spend time with my dad and friend and see another concert. Were I a different or less-aware person in how to de-escalate or prepare for evasive maneuvers, or he read something I mouthed extra-aggressively, or he was just unduly moved by the tone of my car horn, I might be shot at or dead.

It's hard not to think the general incivility and insanity of "the world" isn't encapsulated in moments like these. Earlier, I'm listening to podcasts where rich people are justifying their support of Trump. I'm scrolling and seeing my state senator praising the explicitly fascist governor-elect. Indiana has relaxed its gun laws. I've spent the last several weeks navigating and looking for places to spend time in the greater Indianapolis area, more than once, I've entered a place and been spoken to in Spanish. I'm not anti-immigrant and pass for half a dozen different races, but if I were poor white trash, I could see the path to anti-immigrant sentiments. Our healthcare is the bare minimum, exploitative, and diminishing. Our pay is in the dirt. Our education is embarrassing. Gun-finger guy is the model citizen of a society designed like this one.

I don't know what it says about me that, once I turned back around and noticed several white trucks that might have been his in some of the parking lots, I made a detour and cruised by. I had no intention of stopping or escalating, but it would have been pretty sweet to get a license plate and call the police back. None of the trucks were his. I also reject the insane and perpetual psychosis of this cultural moment that's supposed to wilt and silently suffer the brazen and irresponsible threats and violence of those too weak and stupid to own their baggage.

I don't go out of my way to find or create drama, but I am a fundamentally angry and violent person. I fantasize, regularly, about being in a justifiable situation where I inflict pain or consequences. The fact that I work in an elementary school and can dream about encountering a gunman should make my point indefinitely about the degree of our sickness. The fact that this area is at a point where I could reference recent shootings in my active response to a potential one of my own should too.   

I don't consider myself the kind of person who needs humbling reminders of how fucked up things are. When they occur, I start to intellectualize my potential response and ask questions like whether or not I should own a gun. I don't want a gun for a dozen reasons. I also don't want to live in a world where you're gambling with your life because too many people are proud of how reckless and antagonistically violent they are, looking for justification in every moment. I think it makes sense to wonder if, given your environment, do you have a choice not to protect yourself?  

I have ideals, but I'm not keen to deny my reality. Reality comes crashing through the window like a deer on cocaine with untreated mental health concerns. People who behave like that guy, and the people who pretend like that guy's behavior is just a story of rightfully entitled rugged individualism, need our attention in a way I don't think society has the bandwidth or spiritual and intellectual depth to deal with. In a remotely sane place, I wouldn't be writing this right now, I'd be back to taking notes and looking towards the future of my day and weekend. I suspect there's something of a metaphorical white-trash gunman cussing at us and pointing their fingers at all of our heads.

I'm finding it increasingly impossible to ignore the temperature, score, and suggestion that no matter how prepared or zen I might choose to be while the fire rages, I could stand to incorporate more water.