A series of ill circumstances caused my residence inside this jail. I’m not a criminal, not a bad person, and I wait out my time with the wronged man’s supercilious indignation. In fact, everyone I know will attest to my good nature. My unsuspecting mind was simply sucked into the quicksand of an erroneous philosophy. I always thought philosophy promoted right behavior. How wrong I was! You see when a child is told that white is black and black is white, he walks through life with that incorrect assumption until someone wiser sets him straight. When I began my quest for the one true philosophy, my mind was identical to a child’s. That is, I had had no experience in this field until my first unfortunate encounter with it. In this sense, I cannot be held entirely responsible for my actions. I’ll tell you what I told the judge…indeed perhaps a bit more if you prove yourself a good listener.
It all started on a sunny day in the full fledge of winter. The chill wind was acting awry that afternoon. It seemed to eat away my warm layers and molest my mellow skin. As a result, I had stopped at my local bar, a familiar haunt, to warm my heart with a bit of scotch.
At the bar I struck up a conversation with a peculiar gentleman. His wave of salt-and-pepper hair would whip about as he gesticulated with his head in a harsh baritone voice. He was brilliant and intoxicated, and the liquor had made him eloquent. As a philosophical man, he believed in explicitly following all orders from authority. He was all for social stability and vehemently asserted the capability of government officials. He called himself “the last true Platonian.”
Now, I have always had a malleable nature. I am easily persuaded, easily swayed especially in areas I have no experience in. I am afraid I possess the mind of the fanatic. Thus, by the end of the man’s impassioned diatribe, he had me convinced, religiously so, of the impenetrable uprightness of his ideals.
When I took my leave of him I was warm all over, come what wind may. I immediately altered my conduct to match that of the unalterable genius at the bar. And, for a great while, it worked well. Weeks passed and I obeyed all statutes, all laws. The world smiled upon me, and my mind was at ease. Life seemed so incredibly simple. One merely had to accept one’s place within society to fit into society.
Strangely enough, however, the simple act of driving, something which hundreds of millions of Americans do daily and effortlessly, was especially difficult for me to do as a Platonian. You see, there are so many directions, so many signs ordering and imploring the driver toward this or that end that they distract one’s attention, and confuse one’s logic with their overlapping priorities. There are deer crossing signs, pedestrian crossing signs, keep out signs, warning signs, bus lane only signs, stop signs, yield signs, dip signs, right lane closed signs, no trespassing signs, and that’s just the beginning. There’s a sign on every business roof, on every residence. My young Platonian eyes couldn’t help but read and process each one individually. This was so distracting that each time I got into the car, I would nearly wreck. But, I was convinced that time and persistence would burn this little problem clean. And, very slowly, my driving improved.
Then came the day where everything fell apart. I was driving home from the supermarket on a small charming road going precisely 25mph as the speed limit sign read. I made sure the speedometer needle rested exactly on that fine number. I felt able and determined. I was exceedingly sure of myself and my creed-such that I felt as a god amongst men. So when the upcoming speed limit sign read 250mph, I violently and officiously depressed the accelerator in compliance. I did not even question the hasty, unsymmetrical ‘0’ next to the 25: the product, I realize now, of teenagers and spray paint. Faster, faster, my Astro van strained. The next two speed limit signs blurred by at 100mph and still my speed increased, aiming for 250. My heart was pounding; blood was racing through my body. I could feel my sense and reason detach, but still I sped on. I was losing control, and I knew it. My desperate mind was squealing; the speeding van was reeling. Then suddenly I was surrounded by the screech of tires, the shattering of glass, and the bending of metal. The last thing I remember was a feeling of despairing helplessness.
When I came around I was surrounded by a crowd of people all asking me if I was all right. There were three police cars and an ambulance. Flashing lights and the hum of radios pierced my skull. I was not in my right mind. The next hour was grueling. I was forced to explain to a police officer exactly why I had been going so fast and how I had managed to smash straight into the police substation. His badge skeptically flashed at my eyes as I related my philosophic metamorphosis. By the end of my story, the officer had stopped writing, and his face had flushed darkly. I quickly found myself roughly handcuffed about the wrists and ankles. Then I was jettisoned into the back seat of his car and whirled to jail.
My trial was laughable. The judge, who was nobody’s fool, charged me with contempt of court almost immediately after hearing my story. This, then, is the spot I am in at present-scorned by the immaculate authority I had deified. I await another hearing with dread, for I know my story (and consequently my situation) will be unchanged.
My experience proves the dangers of philosophy. Within her seductive embrace, sense and reason divorce conduct, beckoning disaster. When Uncle Sam’s hard hands uncup this old bird, it will fluff its feathers and stretch its pinioned wings. It’s time to break free.
