As usual, I was battling the forces of Marxism (not Groucho--please don't start with me), this time by driving south in a north-bound lane on the highway.
"Safety first," you say? Sure--and soon you will be safely ensconced in a re-education camp and indoctrinated in the ways of liberal socialism! Laugh if you must but that is exactly what happened to this humble wordsmith. (Or is that "wordsmithee"? No, pretty sure it's not.)
It was only a fortnight ago--yet seems more like dream, or rather, an Orwellian nightmare of repression. I had begun to express my individualistic impulses by aiming my vehicle towards the Polar Star; all others seemed to be on some Oddysean voyage to yonder uncharted isles across a vast, cruel sea ruled by the whims of Poseidon, wherein dwelt strange sirens and beasts. (Although many were taking the Disneyworld exit.)
But no sooner had my Arctic-wise journey started--which like all journeys was also a journey inward to my soul--then suddenly it was ended. I heard a mysterious voice from seemingly everywhere, as if Zeus himself was speaking to me: "Sir, pull the vehicle over," it exclaimed, loud as thunder. An eldritch figure in a uniform and wide-brimmed hat appeared from a horseless chariot with lights as bright as the sun. I expected my life to soon be over; surely this was Death himself, come to claim my soul! But this was not Death but a fate much worse--nay, as I soon learned, death would have been a blissful release. The figure slowly approached me. "Sir, have you been drinking?" The thing, which claimed to be a man and called himself 'Trooper', not only wrote a legal summons for me to appear in court, but called me a 'dangerous idiot' and had my car towed. (Another eldritch figure appeared, he called himself "Tow Man."
The next day I found myself not on a journey into my soul or anywhere but into the harsh, cold, embrace of Police Statism. The Archimdean Levers of socialism pried me into the role of obedient supplicant. More specifically, an obedient supplicant forced to pay a fine for a moving violation. I tried to explain to the judge that I was on a journey towards individual authenticity and that's why I was driving against traffic on the interstate but he was having none of it. With all the arrogance of one in a position of might and power, he gave me a choice between prison versus the re-education camp (which he claimed was a 'traffic school', whatever the hell that is). "By Hades' scepter, you shall never imprison my mind!" I cried. He looked perplexed and said, "Next case number is 15 on the docket." I think he got the point.
Wish me well, gentle readers, for tomorrow I am to be indoctrinated in the collectivist ways and means socialist traffic law.
To Be Continued...