The Lunch Room's Back: Adult e-Drama

When I was in middle school, finding a place to sit during the lunch hour was the most socially awkward and difficult task during the first week of classes. As a sixth grader, I realized quickly that my elementary school pals were in different lunch periods and when gaping at a room predominantly mixed with older schoolmates, trying to find a familiar face and in turn, a seat, was a challenge.


Back then, I was five foot going on gangly and equipped with a full mouth of silver braces. I had bangs, bad clothes, and a backpack full of books that I was afraid I wouldn't have time between classes to leave behind in a locker. I was relieved when a table of seventh graders took mercy on me and beckoned me over.

These girls became my lunch pals for a semester and allowed me to adapt in a sea of unfamiliarity so that later, when I was in eighth grade, I could return the favor to another pal in good faith knowing that this positive cycle of friendship and acceptance could indeed, transcend all the nasty that can be junior high. (Mind you, this was the early 1990s so this particular breed of nasty is somewhat nostalgic.)

So forgive me if I grew up thinking one good turn deserves another. My ideological and romanticized interpretation of 'do unto others' is perhaps not the norm in today's instant gratification society (I waited 2 1/2 full years to return the favor!? What?!), but I have to say that as an adult, nothing can quite prepare you for eDrama.

The Internet, via social networking sites, has become an adult's virtual playground in which he or she can reenact being a bully, a puss, or a wallflower from middle school. We don't have the luxury of class times and teachers and principals with paddles long ago embossed and framed (when capital punishment officially died), to reign us in - keep us off each other. Can't slap your coworker or your friend for something nasty in person? Hit 'em on Myspace. Discredit them on Facebook. Blog about it. Hate a bit a more? Submit an Urban Dictionary definition just in case they ever want to date again.

Pissed because someone's more popular than you are? E-stalk them on Facebook and dig anything you can to obliterate them at work, in school, at parties, in church,...you name it. Because my goodness, someone's 'e-mood' certainly confirms what he or she is thinking second-to-second. (Hello - We have Twitter for that!)

It's bad enough that employers and potential employers plow the social networking sites, eliminating the 'chaff' from their stacks of resumes, but it's far worse to watch adults abuse one another in such a passive-aggressive manner when a simple "let's talk about it" would suffice.

Couples over-analyze daily status reports in hopes of catching one another in some misdemeanor in the relationship. Friends backbite one another and de-friend and befriend each other as the seasons change. Have an ethical issue you want to challenge your coworker about? Blog the hell out of their Facebook wall when you see political commentary. It's Facebook afterall, you can "like" anything you like and "delete" whatever you don't. Right?

Wrong. Some of these antics online are akin to shoving someone off the balance beam or giving someone a wedgie. All relegate you, as a person, to what we called at Carlin Park Elementary, "the bad box."

Have an issue with someone at church? Why tell them?! Read their Facebook or Myspace long enough and you'll achieve fodder to obtain their excommunication - get 'em thrown down from the pulpit, by God. Want to have someone excused from a committee? Look at their Myspace photos and pray for drunk ones.

It's all juvenile and pre-pubescent activity to me. And it's hilarious. Hysterical actually.
Daddy no longer needs to buy a BMW Z3 at 55 years-old, he can just get Facebook and troll the web for $75,000 less. He can spend the extra cash on a new head of hair or calf implants. (Though I beg him to take caution when the country finally, FINALLY, moves away from dial up and gets high speed. Mama's gonna have a laptop too.) They will eventually duke it out by whether or not they post "married" on their profiles.

Want to spy on your kids? A host of parents are now trolling the Internet to catch their children in the proverbial "act" all the time. (note - I think some of this is okay, frankly. It's a jungle out there!)

Not a bully by nature? Social networking sites are perfect for being a victim too! You can spend hours reading into Facebook posts hoping or thinking they're about you. You watch as two people converse and leave you out of the cyber conversation. Better yet, read into a survey your friend writes and see if the "Who's your best friend?" answer doesn't read YOU.
It's easy to hate the world when your view exists only between your seat and the 19 inches in front of you.
(computer screen, hello!)

And I have to laugh, because I've fallen into this before a few times and though I'm incredulous about how social networking has in many ways, replaced the phone, replaced email, replaced sharing in person, I see how it gets popular.
It recreates grade school for those of us who didn't quite survive it unscathed or without a few bridges left to burn.

When I was in fifth grade, someone shoved me off the balance beam. I fell off, arching wildly, slapping my back on the beam before hitting the ground in a heap. At the time, a few kids stood by and watched as I struggled to breathe before a recess monitor rushed to ensure I lived. I think today, I'll post on Facebook: "Dana Barrett got shoved of the balance beam."

Wonder how many will respond with "I like this."

Guess we're all still working on growing up a little...

:)

Goin' My Way?

Since the age of 18, I've been battling a disease commonly known as road rage. Inherited from my paternal grandfather and father, it's just one of those illnesses that sticks no matter how much incense you breathe; yoga you take; or sedatives produced. It's just there.

And I didn't get my driver's license at age 18, but to me that's when my time became way more valuable and I needed point A to yield point B far more quickly.

Over ten years later, I'm still struggling. I live in Fort Wayne, Indiana - a perpetual traffic nightmare compared with the burgs around it where you can calmly break the speed limit and only a corn stalk or a rusted out trailer will see you. That is, unless it's the end of the month, then the coppers are everywhere making quotas.

Fort Wayne driving isn't nearly the level of nerve-wracking that say, Atlanta or Chicago are, but what adds insult to injury is that it ISN'T Atlanta or Chicago. It's FORT WAYNE. An extra-large town rather than a metropolitan behemoth, Fort Wayne doesn't have the street cred for the traffic problems it has year upon year upon year upon year...

One issue that resurfaces (pardon my pun) is the construction. People will hear me complain for days about Fort Wayne's lack of construction control. My motto: do it right the first time and you don't have to redo it as frequently. Apparently Fort Wayne INDOT doesn't subscribe the same way. For proof, check out U.S. State Road 14/Illinois Road some evening if you're jonesing for Bandito's. (Which you should never jones for Bandito's.) I challenge you not to be disgusted. This project has taken nearly two years and it seems the engineers didn't "account for" the big man-made pond. Nice. Needless to say, that artery has been clogged and a consistent auto-wrecker for a long time.

Every downtown street needs a repair due to flooding, poor roadwork, or overuse. Not to mention, we've placed a traffic light at nearly every intersection save the ones where we actually need one to keep people from killing themselves (ex. Rudisill and Fairfield).

Drivers have resorted to running red lights three to four vehicles at a time as frustration levels rise with delays caused by poor-planning road work groups.

Don't start me on train tracks. Taking Thomas to Target or Jefferson Pointe? Forget it. You have to slow to 5 mph (which is damn near impossible) so that you don't lose a wheel or rattle a filling out of your mouth trying to cross. Note, there are two there in a row for you - both poorly maintained and both rickety as hell. Bonus points for catching the train there.

And you know, it's not even the road work that causes me the most frustration. It's that I can't seem to get anywhere quickly. Lunch hours are an exercise in futility. "Ma'am, I'm sorry you drove twenty minutes to get home, but we've blocked the entrance for the next four hours." Gotta tell you officer, that pisses me off. Where would you have me go? I left the stove on and in those four hours, the whole show's gonna blow. You want that on your hands?

Grandpa, I know it's Friday afternoon and you have a phone book booster seat slipping off your bum, but gas your Buick. You got a big car with a big engine that has slipped into geezer status because men like you refuse to gun the hell out of them. Try it. It's exhilarating. Blow your hair back; go 40 mph on Bass Road. I dare you.

I have to concur with BLeave on this too. Why does every 20-50 year old mom have to a) drive an enormous SUV and b) text while driving it. I mean, you're the mother bear - your cubs are in the back and here you are slowing down to send a text forward that sings Jesus Loves Me to your girlfriend back at the office who didn't take the day off to go to Von Maur. Meanwhile, your kids are getting a free amusement park ride in the back as your Escalade or Excursion swings its ass all over the freeway. Listen to the hospitals: Don't Text and Die. And your children are simply innocent victims to your mindless, MarioKart way of navigating the city. I swear if your back panel swings any closer to my car, I'm going to lose it.

So you don't know where you're going. I hear you. I still get a little turned around here in Fort Wayne because of the rivers and the constant street name changes. (Most recently, Huegenard and Hillegas) I get it. Fort Wayne's a little tricky especially if you grew up in Angola and you're panicked because you see Creighton coming up on your right. May I suggest a navigator, a map, or good old fashioned directions? This helps. Please don't crawl from block to block and then stop at intersections where you're not quite sure. You can ALWAYS turn around. Promise. Everything's gonna be alright.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! We've sat here waiting for the longest light ever to change to green and you're still sitting. Nearly forty-five seconds later, you finally get this "oooh, my turn!" gun to the gas and by the time you and the poor sap behind you get through, the rest of us are in for another long stretch of waiting. (ex. Anthony and Coliseum) To me, if you have an army of cars behind you and it's after class or after work, it's in your best interest to step on it.
(Note - soccer mom missed the light and took it red because she was texting and checking her nail polish.)

How many cops does it take to patrol one city block? I rue the day I come up behind a few police officers ( as much as I love their contribution to our city) and every driver slows to just shy of the limit to prevent being arrested. (*laughs) Worse than that, the drivers slow so they have no chance of passing a patrol car because heaven forbid we pass one. I've never seen so many drivers actively fearing the cherries and berries.
But I get it.
You don't have insurance or had three brews at lunch. Stakes are high right?
Phhhsssst.
Drive.

Farm vehicle, eh. You have an errand to run. Maybe you ran out of seed or need a specific tool from Harbor Freight, but it's a nice day so you're driving the combine to town. Dammit. Tractors are sexy, but not when they're plowing pavement at 10 mph between 5 and 6 pm.

Don't start me on mopeds. Gasoline cost is ridiculous and you got a DUI. You still have to drive to work and it's a little far. But do you have to take the fast lane and the middle? It's not fair. You'd make better time and be less of a traffic risk if you had a Big Wheel and a backpack.

Bicycles. I love biking. It's fun and allows you to get some exercise en route to and from work. But know the rules. Know where you can and cannot ride. Stay outta my way! If you're pedaling across US 930 full human speed when the light's red, I am telling you, I have the right of way. Not you. Which reminds me, where are all the kids coming from who are riding along highways on their BMX bikes?! That just doesn't seem safe to me.

Pedestrians, do me a favor. If I'm letting you and the gaggle of shoppers behind you walk through before I park at lease, LEAST, pick up your feet. I may be compelled to knock out a few stragglers if I have to wait too long. At least pretend your hurrying up because our time is mutually valuable. I wasn't put on this earth to watch you strut your stuff. I'm being courteous by not running you over. You really wanna go by Dodge Stratus? I wouldn't.

And I admit it, I'm not very nice behind the wheel. This is one of my own character flaws that causes my passengers immense discomfort as I honk the horn, yank the wheel and yell "dumpers!" and "hurry up!" and "big sh*tter!" en route to our destination. (note - the first and last phrases are shared with one of my best friends and more humorous than anything)

And I apologize to those of you whose horns I honked for you and whose passenger brakes I've squeezed. It's not you, it's me.
You have the right to be a little mad at me sometimes. I can be downright embarrassing and I've once, twice, three times earned my comeuppance. (Like the dudes in Huntington who tried to follow me home; or the old guy who tried to squash me against a guardrail at 85 mph heading north on I65 around Louisville)
I'm Sorry!

I'M SOOOOORRRRRRRRYYYYYY!

It's just me.

Anyone going my way?