So, the other day I was lucky enough to be treated to one of those fascinating lectures you usually need to spend all day in front of City Hall to get. That’s right: I got to hear all about the true facts concerning some of my lesser known civil rights. This particular lecture, however, included something a little bit more than what you usually get at your standard third party political rally: it also included a special bonus section on what to do if I ever decide to start my life over again as a dumbass.
Here’s a sample of some of the information I received: it is illegal for the police to shoot you if you are running away from a robbery. Also, it’s illegal for the police to try and stop you if you are driving very, very, quickly (not that they will even attempt it if you are also driving very, very, skillfully.). And finally, if for some reason both the running away and the driving very quickly (and skillfully) don’t work, then you can still get away with everything if you can manage to run inside your own house, get your pajamas on, and then jump into bed before the police break down the door. It seems that if enough circumstantial evidence points to the fact that you have been home sleeping all night (as opposed to leading them on high-speed car chases and running away from robberies), then the American criminal justice system will, quite simply, be flummoxed.
The best part about all of this information? It was free. And plentiful. And available to me in the comfort of my own car—all I had to do was turn down the music enough to hear the conversation that was happening in the back seat.
The back seat has always been a great source of information for me. Before this incident I had already learned several incorrect ways to to avoid pregnancy, infallible ways to cheat on a test (if you really, really want to get caught), and various household substances that are guaranteed to get you super high (or at least make you look super stupid—can I get another hit of that banana peel?). But, I suppose, with age comes maturity, and the mature teen no longer discusses the many uses of nutmeg, but rather how best to live life like an episode of Grand Theft Auto.
The most frightening thing about all of this was how very, very, sure they were that the BS they were spewing was absolutely, 100%, true. On this point there was not the least little bit of doubt; on the contrary, they believed it with the conviction of someone who has not only drank the Kool-Aid, but would gladly go back for a second cup if it wasn’t for all of those bodies piled around the punch bowl. The frustrating thing is that these are the same people who look at you like you’re trying to sell them a timeshare if you suggest that maybe the best way to pass that math test would be to study. Or like you’re asking them to come to your Flat Earth Society meeting every time you point out that the easiest way to find the t-shirt they have misplaced would be to pick all of the other t-shirts up off of the floor.
I wish I knew why they are so willing to believe that an obscure maritime law from two centuries ago will protect them from arrest (as long as at least one foot is in a naturally occurring body of water), and yet are completely unwilling to believe that gravity is enforced 24/7. Who can say? Maybe it’s just the eternal optimism of youth.
Or the freedom to be a dumbass. Which is, as it turns one, is actually one of our better known civil rights.