OF GUITARS AND SHOVELS
by David Francis
It is a commonly held belief among the people who know me, that I am afraid of people. I can understand why my peers might think this about me, but I feel if I am going to be labeled with this 'people phobia', then I should be allowed to express my reasoning behind it, and even argue for the sense in maintaining it.
First of all, I think I should clarify that I am not afraid of people in general. I am afraid (quite logically, I think) of scary people. Far more disturbing than my supposed fear of people, in my opinion, is everyone else's difficulty in recognizing scary people. Mock me if you like, but I can tell you when its time to leave the local post-office or McDonalds while others blindly continue their superior social skills up to the moment they are stopped suddenly by several grams of lead tearing through their heads and chests.
I have been accused of being afraid of crowds. This also is not true except in the valid statistical sense that an increase of a random sample of people likely increases the number of scary people present. Let me give you an example for clarification. If you put me in a room full of naked super-models, you will find I am quite happy in this crowd. Let us now increase this crowd by adding women from the 1992 Olympic swimming team as well as some of the older gymnasts from Germany. Even with the increase of people, I am quite happy. Why? Because the increase of scary people was disallowed (note that I didn't allow Olympic figure skaters).
But I can expect no such luxury in everyday life, and therefore my survival instinct of fear kicks in. Just the other day I was walking down Main street and I saw a blatantly scary person that other people did not seem to recognize as so. He was an older man, shabbily dressed, sitting in front of one of the restaurants. What made him scary was the fact that he was sitting on the steps singing and playing a guitar.
Immediately my survival instinct sounded warning, and I crossed to the other side of the street before I had to pass in front of this man. But others were walking right by him as though he was completely harmless. It seemed to me that a few thoughts should have been running through their heedless minds:
This man sang with all the skill of a cat in heat. Hearing him sing, it seemed more appropriate that I should demonstrate my skills at removing toe jam from my feet on this restaurant's steps, than have him demonstrate his musical abilities. Why then was he singing in public? The answer is even more frightening. He was singing for money.
Now society expects us to understand a few simple precepts. I think the idea of supply and demand is a reasonably basic one. If I poke a stranger in the eye with a stick, I don't expect compensation for this service. Yet this man strumming his guitar seemed to think he might be instilling in passers-by just such a sense of obligation. This should frighten anyone. If he believes his musical skills demand some kind of monetary conversion, I think it is probable that his view of reality as a whole may be drastically altered. Does he see the rest of the populace as fellow humans, or, in fact, does he see himself as the only human, and we as invading aliens which he occasionally tricks out of their solarian maguloids by his masterful art? Or perhaps he thinks that only by singing and playing his guitar in public can he hope to avoid being taken over by the demons which he believes were released years ago when Cheranobyl exploded. Who knows what sort of thought process such a person is capable of? The potential for a life-altering experience is obvious, and best avoided if at all possible.
My more aggressive friends have told me it is pathetic to live in this kind of fear when these people usually tend to be fairly harmless. I have argued back that they have been harmless to date only because they haven't been provoked, and since no one knows what may provoke them, I'd rather not take any unnecessary risks. Still, I have listened to my friend's arguments, and I am trying to do something to improve my social skills in this area.
If this man I mention can be allowed to wield a guitar in public in his frightening manner, can there be any argument against me carrying around a sturdy shovel? I really think it would go a long way in helping me face the unknows of general society.
As with a guitar, there is nothing inherently troublesome about a shovel. For me, it would act as a kind of security blanket--and as a reminder to face my needless fears of the general population. Of course, it is also true that once you position a shovel in a threatening manner before an individual, it can have an empowering effect. The person threatened sees this unwarranted utensil, and his or her mind begins racing with questions: "What kind of sick monster threatens someone with a shovel?", "Will he bash my head in?" "Will he break my legs with it?", "Will he thrust it into my chest?"
All questions lead to the inevitable general conclusion of a slow and painful death to be avoided at all costs. Nobody wants their eight minutes of fame in life to come as the result of an altercation with a shovel-ladened madman. Of course, I don't intend to ever use a shovel like this. As I have said, I think of it mostly as just a social equilizer--just a crutch until I get used to socializing with the rest of the world.
If you want, you can argue that I am still afraid of people, and the fact that I need a shovel in order to interact with them only proves the point. Maybe you're right. But I am, at least, trying to improve. And I think my purchasing of a trusty shovel can only be seen as progress.