Stains

Hugh and I are driving responsibly down a suburban street. It's 9:30 in the morning. It's a clear day.

Up ahead a beat-up white Mazda is obviously about to do a u-turn. Hugh sees it and slows accordingly, cautiously. Nowadays, you know what idiots there are on the road, he's just as likely to pull out in front of us. Surely not. He's seen us.

He pulls out anyway. Hugh veers to the right. Mazda guy keeps on coming. Hugh veers more to the right. Both cars are travelling pretty slow, so with Hugh's veering and Mazda guy's pulling, we grind to an over-emphasised halt across the centre-line, and wait for the crunch.

Thankfully, it doesn't come. Mazda guy looks me full in the face (I was in the passenger's seat and only five feet from Mazda guy's face). His roll-your-own cigarette is dangling from his menacingly grinning mouth. And I begin to get a picture of who we're dealing with.

The tattoos on his neck are obvious. Spikey haircut. Nothing . . . and I mean nothing but anger in his eyes. As he backs up I can see him mouthing off at us. His rotten teeth are clenched.

Hugh backs up as well, and swings in to the curb. At this point we're pretty sure he didn't hit us, but it wouldn't hurt to check would it? Cars are backing up behind us.

Mazda guy swerves his car into a sort of parked position, too far out from the curb, the back of the car sticking out even further. He's getting out of the car. His missus gets out too. She's got her own rollie cigarette, peroxided hair with black roots. Her face is gaunt, her eyes dead. She's butt ugly. She's wearing a pink hoodie and white track pants, and her face, too, is contorted with contempt.

Hugh's going to check if there's any damage at all. We don't think so, but why not check?

And this is where our initial judgement of Mr and Mrs Mazda is validated. They're both mouthing off at Hugh for stopping, for getting out of the car. No need to get our of the car! Mazda guy is huffing like a wounded gorilla who's been challenged to a duel. Gaunt woman is backing her man with a verbal tirade.

To be honest, we think they're on something. Or drunk. Both?

And if you'll permit me to take my judgmentalness up a notch, I'm thinking these people don't even reach the high standard set by regular white trash. They give white trash a bad name. They are the black sheeps of a white trash family. They saunter across the road, off to where ever they are going, drunk/stoned, at this time of the morning. Coming home from a party? Going to the next one? Who knows?

And, as Hugh pointed out, this is kind of representative of a larger phenomenon. Mongrels like this are taking over.

Why be belligerent towards us? He was so clearly in the wrong, so obviously a menace on the road. What have we done to warrant such aggression? Apparently, just being there is our crime. Being in his way. He gets abusive towards us. No apology. No hint of responsibility. No hint of shame. He abuses us.

Don't we meet people like this every day? People with so little regard for others, or humanity in general - social contract, common courtesy and decency. They're everywhere. They walk in the malls; at the pubs (not that I ever go to a pub); in the street. They're a stain on society. And like a stain, they make the place look ugly, they serve no purpose whatsoever except to identify mistakes, and they should be eliminated.

But you can't say that. You can't even think that. The liberals tut-tut you and the thought police come knocking.

Middle class, responsible, law-abiding citizens just have to swallow, accept that that's the way it is. Those people have as much right to be here as we do.

We just have to continue to feel intimidated. Bullied. Afraid to go out, even during the day now, let alone at night. We're the ones in prison.

No truer adage is relevant to me right now than the one about lunatics taking over the asylum.