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Brooks Peterson
Brooks Peterson's column is published Mondays. Brooks also sits on the Caller-Times editorial board and can be contacted at petersonb@caller.com
Monday, August 7, 2000
Everyday life is suffused with mystery
Everybody loves a mystery. There is something in a mystery that just grabs us by the ear and hauls us (figuratively speaking) down noisome alleys and squalid byways we'd otherwise shun like the plague.
Right?
An interesting point: It seems to me that, with a few exceptions - the whereabouts of Judge Crater, say, or the Amelia Earhart perplexity - the truly enduring mysteries are the least consequential ones.
For example: Why has no one tumbled to what should be one of the most portentous issues on our national agenda?
I refer to the clear and present danger that at some point in the not too distant future we may run out of salt and pepper.
Consider: You roll up to the drive-in window of your favorite fast-food emporium, and as the cheery, efficient, welcoming staffer takes your order you ask him/her to toss in some salt and pepper.
That's where it gets really strange. See, unless you're going to be engaging in some sort of burger bacchanal, a single packet of salt and another of pepper would be more than sufficient.
So whaddaya get? Anywhere from four to six packets of each - even more if the attendant is in the mood.
Is this symptomatic of our culture of materialistic excess? Are these food-service workers lashing out at their employers? Or are there actually people there who use all those packets of salt and pepper? Mondo bizarro.
Much more of this, and a salt-and-pepper shortage will have us lined up at our supermarkets just like OPEC had us queueing up at the gas stations back in the '70s. Can you say "salt riots?"
Want more? Get this: Why is virtually every television/VCR remote control on the market turned out in either stygian black or a muted shade of charcoal?
Did someone out there suggest this is a non-issue? Obviously, you haven't been paying attention: I would submit to you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that at any given moment 35 to 40 percent of Americans are storming through their rec rooms and ransacking their dens in search of TV/VCR remotes.
Not a pretty picture, let me tell you: sofa cushions flying through the air, muttered curses uttered between clenched teeth, mamas and papas hissing abuse at each others, children wailing in dismay - whole families ravaged by Remote Separation Anxiety.
And it's all so unnecessary. All this heartbreak, all this angst and alienation could be averted by a stunningly simple expedient: Simply require that all remotes be produced in colors so vivid that they could not be lost. I'm thinking Day-Glo orange, and perhaps that lurid luminiscent yellow-green that some fire departments use these days.
Where's the vision? Mr. Bush? Mr. Gore? I'll be waiting to hear from you on this.
Finally, the one I've been saving till last:
Why is it that little cars have wimpy, ineffectual horns, while big, expensive luxo-machines have honkers that can damage concrete foundations within a radius of five miles?
I don't want you to think I'm some kind of Bolshevik, but this is one instance in which ol' Karl Marx may have something to contribute to the discussion. Remember? "From each according to his ability, to each according to his need."
See where I'm going with this? Come on: What does an S-Series Mercedez-Benz Panzer need with this kind of aural firepower? In a rationally ordered universe, such gear would be standard equipment with every little car.
Especially MGs: As it is, my faithful B suffers the indignity of having a VW Beetle horn where its own honker ought to be. Doesn't really matter, though, since the original-equipment horn is every bit as ineffectual as its replacement.
What do you guys in your Mercs and 7-Series Bimmers and DeVilles and Town Cars need with killer horns? We, the cringing masses in our mini-cars, are the ones who could really use 'em.
Why haven't the feds come up with Aural Equity Block Grants? Hah? I ask you. It's . . . it's . . . a mystery.
And, I would add, an outrage. Onward to the barricades, comrades!
(Brooks Peterson can be reached by phone at 886-3772, or by e-mail at petersonb@caller.com)
Brooks Peterson
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