So much of what is written here for the old Huff Po is defined by our need to separate ourselves from the other side. To widen the chasm that exists between increasingly polarized parties and their constituents. So here now, I will expose myself at my most vulnerable to reveal a part of my personality that is not only empathetic but truly understands the white Christian men at whom I have so callously been hurling invective for far too long.
Recently I called my cellular service provider to adjust my calling plan. I find this is necessary from time to time to tailor my account to my specific needs, otherwise I get hit with a huge bill when I least expect it due to heavy usage or travel related roaming charges. After going through the protracted automated menu and pressing all the buttons appropriate to my inquiry, I found myself on hold listening to bad music and an occasional warning about the “extended wait time” on a mind-numbing loop. Five minutes turned into ten… which turned into twenty… which turned me into a ridiculous, fuming, red-faced freak, muttering obscenities like Yosemite Sam.
Now a normal person would probably have hung up and called right back… or even tried again later. But not me. No siree! I was in a full-blown fit of what I have come to call “impotent rage.” It’s the phenomenon many men seem to suffer from when they are powerless in a maddening situation and have nowhere to direct their anger. Reason and good judgment melts away, giving way to unparalleled stubbornness. So when my wife begged me to hang up, reminding me that I was going to be late for an afternoon meeting, I stood my ground, refusing to surrender. They were not going to break me that easy! The forty-five minutes I had spent waiting was going end in some satisfaction. Some jerk at Cingular was going to receive the full force of my outrage and they were going to give me free service for the rest of my life... or something. I made my poor wife listen to the hold music while I took a fast shower and got dressed. The wait time was clocking in at just over an hour as I put in my earpiece, got into my car, and drove furiously towards a pre-meeting pow-wow with a business partner at a coffee shop in Burbank.
I have to say, although I was well aware of the insanity that had overcome me, I was lost, helpless in its grip, unable to focus on anything else. As I explained the situation… which was quickly approaching the two hour mark… to my friend and partner, he tried in vain to encourage me to call it quits. He posited that maybe my call got dumped onto some line that was now lost in the system and that no one was ever going to pick up. I clutched my grande cappuccino and dug in my heels. Admit failure? Not a chance!
By the time we got to the meeting, the overwhelming idiocy and futility of my campaign was all too clear. It had been almost three hours and the rage had all but drained me of the power of linear thought. As our meeting began, I unceremoniously clicked the “end” button on my phone, resigned to the reality that my energy and time had been ill invested. The pathetic anti-climax to this story is that I called back the next day and got the matter resolved in less than ten minutes.
It was only after this experience that I began to comprehend the rationale for “staying the course” in Iraq. Despite the overwhelming financial and human cost, it has become increasingly impossible to extricate ourselves from the quagmire of that occupation. But I’m here to be a uniter, not a divider. I understand driving faster in the wrong direction when you’re lost. I really do get it. However sometimes the best exit strategy is the humble admission of a mistake to save further loss of valuable resources. Come on guys, if I can cop to the fact that I’m an idiot sometimes, you can too. Let the healing begin.