Broken Hallelujah

We live in an fast-changing sometimes frantic-paced world where store clerks or fast food workers seldom have time to say, "Thank You" or a "Have A Nice Day". It's really stretching it to expect to get any sympathy from customer service workers on the other end of the phone. As if someone told them you could only find "sympathy" in the dictionary between "shit" and "syphillis". That it'd be dirty to consider saying it. But when drivers on the busy roads have lost the fine art of giving the finger, well, the country has gone to hell in a handbasket. Driving home yesterday on a curvy, two-lane mountainous road, I rounded a particularly long curve to find a car coming from the opposite direction, but. in. my. lane. He and I both swerved to the right, with only inches to spare, averting a major head-on accident. And as his sneering ass passes me on the road, he has the nerve to unfurl his middle finger and flip me off. And he was in my lane.





Now, someone correct me if I'm wrong, but where I come from, it's customary for the person who has been wronged, or the "flipper", to do the ceremonious flipping of the bird to the person who is in the wrong or the "flippee". I'm sure I saw it somewhere in the rulebook. Or at least I learned it at my father's knee as he surely learned it from his forefathers. We're going to have to go over this again, I'm afraid. To set straight who's the actual flipper and who's the flippee. There'll be a test on this tomorrow.