By God, I hope they do!
And here’s why.
Every morning I join the thousands upon thousands of other Muggles around the world and grind my way into work. As far as American automobile commuters in large urban areas are concerned, I’m one of the “lucky” ones. I drive 23 miles one-way, door-to-door early each day and then again going home, and I can usually make each leg of the trip in 20-25 minutes.
I have friends and colleagues who spend three to four times as long as I do, immersed in their own versions of Commuter Hell, but that’s their problem, I figure, so Lucky Me.
However, a number of years ago I developed a personal theory whose thesis is that my commute is, in reality, my Transition Time.
It’s an important part of the DailyTripBlog.com Muggle Lifecycle that allows me either to wind down after a long and fruitless day at the office, when I accomplish nothing of importance (almost always) except to engender the continued annoyance of my peers and management alike. Or it serves to pull me from my safe and comfortable morning cocoon at home and affords me the opportunity to put on the armor required to slog through all the
problems challenges I fight encounter with the morons customers and other morons fellow employees I deal with day in and day out.
And it allows me to swear.
Pretty much each one of these half-hour commuting stints is a my own virtuoso performance featuring stream-of-consciousness foul language so bad it would make the most crusty sailor afloat cringe with embarrassment.
Driving too slow in front of me? I’m going to swear. Merge in front of my without a blinker? I’m going to swear. Tailgate? I’m going to swear. Drive any type of car I estimate costs more than $75K? I’m going to swear.
And I have a special vocabulary developed for most Mercedes-Benz and BMW owners, especially those in black cars.
Just to be clear, I never gesticulate, flip anyone off, or provoke any sort of road rage reaction. Well, I might slowly shake my head as I roll by the offending party or, perhaps, throw up my hands in consternation if someone is clearly acting like an ignoramous with a cell phone glued to his or her ear.
Imagine, if you will, the dialogue featured in The Big Lebowski, and then multiply it tenfold. Yep, I can crank out the verbal crap with the best of them.
But what I have found is that by spewing this filth to myself in the sanctity of my own automobile, I spare everyone else my enmity when I reach my destination.
I arrive pleasant, chatty, good-natured, and ready to interact positively with my fellow Muggles.
The methodology works like a charm, because I leave “Bad-Me” in the car and bring “Zen-Me” inside.
And I’m okay with it, because everyone has to have some kind of coping mechanism to deal with the God-Awful traffic around here.
That’s where the nun comes in.
As I zoomed down the Interstate Highway this morning, I spied a nun merging into a lane far to my right.
Unless she was a stripper in disguise, she had to have been a real nun, since she wore a habit and looked as if she had the full nun regalia on, as far as I could tell. I’m no expert, but I’ve watched both Sister Act and The Sound of Music multiple times, so that should count for something.
As I am wont to do when I’m not swearing, I began to wonder how she coped with the traffic, which led to the equally pointless pondering regarding how all nuns dealt with the same situation.
Do they blow off steam by swearing in the sanctity of their cloistered car?
I tend to doubt it.
I imagine their introspective exclamations of frustration must go something like this:
“Lord, give me strength.”
Or, “Lord, please bestow enlightenment upon that soul who almost side-swiped me just now.”
Or, “Lord, I do not see brake lights up ahead, do I? Are you kidding me? I’m running late this morning.”
Of course that last statement would require supplemental Hail Mary’s at the Daily Confessional, I suppose.
I guess my fervent hope is that, like me, they are, in fact, allowed to blow off steam and occasionally act like the rest of us Miserable Muggles.
After all, we are all Sinners. It’s just that some of us are a lot worse than others.
And have really foul mouths.