Good People Don't Curse

 

I was near home, about to make a right on a well-travelled boulevard. I had dragged myself through the work day. It had begun, and ended, in an unremitting bad mood which I attribute to the unfolding of events related to some philosophical pet peeve. So, getting into the womb of my apartment was pressing on me. I had taken some less crowded side streets, and was making reasonably good time. Then, a gargantuan SUV ahead of me waited to make a left on the rush hour car filled street. I could divine this by the angle of the metal blockade, since there was no concomitant flashing signal. I cursed. I cursed several times (the one that the celebrities on the Actor's Studio say that they favor), simultaneously rationalizing each curse, as the only proper response to the unseemly ease with which one human being discomfits another As it happened, I was the only human being behind him. It wouldn't have mattered, of course, if there had been twenty of us behind him, the driver would have still blithely blocked the road, and that realization increased my anger. He made his oblivious turn and I made mine. Suddenly, I thought, "Good people don't curse". Then followed the conclusion, "Therefore, I am not good". For the few blocks to my apartment, I became semi-obsessed with what I hoped was mere syllogism, rather than self-condemnatory truth. I haven't read the life of every saint, but I cannot imagine, say, St. Therese of the Little Flower ever having even thought a four letter word let alone saying one repeatedly and with the verve to which I am given. Never mind designated saints, but there are several of my fellow churchgoers, and one in particular, whom I can never picture employing, as Mr. Spock said in Star Trek IV, a "colorful epithet".  I wondered, how do they restrain themselves? This led me back to the unalterable fact that not only are they simply of way better character than I am, but that my semi-public venality was merely one moral lapse of an infinite variety. Luckily, I pulled into my parking space as the implications of that latter thought were about to fully impact me. I considered going to a nearby Mexican restaurant to have several margaritas to dull my mind. But writing this all down seems to have had a quasi-quieting effect.