Control

The sad looking man in the minivan drove by me with all his windows down blaring his hard rock music. I smiled as I pulled the mail from my post box. The smile was as if to say,

"I know you want the world to think you're in control of your life, but we all know the truth. The truth is you were sent out to the store by your wife after low fat milk, goldfish crackers and a variety pack of mixed fruit cups for your howling two year old. You were stuck in line for fifteen minutes because some elderly woman decided to sort through her four thousand two hundred and seven coupons in the line in front of you. The cashier doesn't care. He's still has to work an eight hour shift, regardless how long each customer takes. During that time you ignored two phone calls from home. You imagine the rather unpleasant voice mails you will have to delete later.

Once you got into your car you were struck with the fact that your bag was rather lacking of mixed fruit cups. So in a vein effort to regain the control over your life that you once believed you had, you turned on your loud rock and drove with your windows down. You didn't care what was playing, as long as it was loud. In addition you needed me/us/your neighbors to see all the control you had. Because you knew as soon as you and your fruitcupless bag walked over that threshold, you would be powerless."

Yeah, it said all that. Trust me. I understand. Good luck, and next time you're trying to look like a confident single man, I would suggest ditching the cherry red minivan with the "Spoiled Princess" bumper sticker.