Stupid people

I have mentioned this in a previous post. A major problem in our world is that many stupid people get to make decisions. Here are a few that I have encountered. Some have now, thankfully, been rectified.

As a young child, I absolutely loved reading books. These days, children are encouraged to read from a young age, but in my days that was not the case.  As I have mentioned in a previous post, I got chastised by my teacher when I dared to read more pages than I was meant to. My parents suggested I join the town library where I could satisfy my desire to read. I rmember going to the front desk to apply for membership. The stern librarian asked me what my age was. When I told her I was eight, she said that only people over ten could join. I was speechless. There was no amount of persuasion that would cause her to relent. I was old enough to catch a bus into town on my own, but not old enough read books. I left in tears. Stupid stupid stupid.

When I was about ten years old, I had my appendix removed. This necessitated a seven day stay in hospital, where I was looked after by reasonably kind student nurses and an absolute battleaxe of a ward sister. The night after my operation I tossed and turned. I must have flung my arms out because I sent a caraffe of water crashing to the floor. I remember crying almost hysterically. I really wanted my mother, but she was not allowed to be there. The ward sister really blasted me for breaking the caraffe. These days, the parents are encouraged to stay with their children when they are in hospital. At that time, parents were only allowed to visit their children between 3.00pm and 3.30pm – half an hour a day. I spent the whole day in my hospital bed looking forward to the thirty minutes that my mother would be with me. I did not see my father, because he was at work, and parents were not allowed to visit in the evenings. Down the passage there was a large ward with younger children. I remember so clearly, when the bell went at 3.30pm to indicate the end of visiting hours, and the parents shuffled out, the huge wail that went up from these kids. They sobbed and screamed hysterically for at least half an hour. The already hard pressed nurses had to try and calm them down. Who made these stupid laws? Surely it would not take more than a few brain cells to realise that giving parents reasonably unrestricted access made the nurses’  jobs easier, and probably made the children recover quicker. Thankfully, things have changed.  A few years ago, Muppet, our daughter, broke her arm rather badly. We were told to go to the recovery room to make sure that when she came around from the anaesthetic, she would see familiar faces.

I could go on. When Spiderman and Muti Man were born, I was allowed to look at them and then I was told to go home. When Muppet was born some years later, I was actually asked to hold her and cuddle her while Mother Superior recovered. I then brought her to Mother Superior, and was allowed to stay as long as I liked. It was a very special moment, and I am still angry that I was denied it with Spiderman and Muti Man.

When Spiderman was three, he became very ill, and had to have a kidney removed. The hospital ward was run by an absolute bitch named sister Brown. She obviously disliked children and parents, but some knucklehead had decided to put her in charge of a children’s surgical ward. Sister Brown decreed that vistors were only allowed beween 9.00am and 6.00pm, never mind that she was dealing with traumatised young children. The night before the big operation, we asked if we could stay with Spiderman. She flatly refused. We got there early the next morning, only to find that he had already been taken to theatre. The thought of this young child being woken up and taken by strangers to his operation still haunts me today. We waited sadly at his bed for him to return, and stayed with him the rest of the day. At 6.00pm, the bitch ushered us out, while he lay in his cot and screamed for us to come back. It was very hard.  The next day, while we waited to be allowed into the ward at 9.00am, we could hear Spiderman crying inside. Mother Superior almost went frantic with worry. The bitch informed us that Spderman was very badly behaved, and we should do something about it. This was a three year old who was recovering from major surgery the day before, and was denied the loving care of his mother. All I can hope is that the bitch is no longer running a children’s ward. The surgeon, who was a renowned professor, and obviously a very intelligent man, saw what was happening, and discharged Spiderman early to be cared for by his family.

As I have already said, fortunately, sanity has prevaled, and parents are encouraged, if not requested, to take an active role in caring for their children while in hospital. Fathers also participate in their children’s birth, and can now enjoy that unique time with their new family.

Gift vouchers – why?

At this time of the year, many of us are frantically trying to decide what gift to buy for loved ones, and then decide on the ultimate cop-out, the gift voucher.  This is a system where you exchange your hard-earned money for a plastic card that enables the recipient to buy goods for the same value – with major restrictions. Firstly, they can be used at only specified stores and, secondly, if they are not used before a given date, they cease to have any value. Can you believe it, you exchange your money for the same value with a use by date.

I can see the thinking behind gift vouchers. You don’t know what to buy for someone, and you don’t want to give them money, because you don’t want it to go towards the next month’s groceries.  Unfortunately, I find that receiving gift vouchers can be very stressful. I have so often heard people saying that they have to drive across town to spend a $50 gift voucher at some small boutique before it expires and the money is wasted. When they get to the shop, they often find that it does not stock anything that they want, so they end up buying anything to avoid wasting the money. Alternatively, it does have something that they would like, at double what it would cost at Kmart, so they end up adding their own funds to the purchase, and probably paying more for it.

As I write this, I have a $20 Mitre 10 gift voucher , which I won for footy tipping ( of all things!), that has expired. The reason that it has expired is that there is no Mitre 10 store within 100 Kms, and it would hardly have been worth it to make the long journey simply to spend $20. This is good news for the stores. Charging $20 for a worthless piece of plastic must be very good business for them.

The gift vouchers that really get my goat are those issued by the large shopping centres. People buy them thinking that they offer the recipient a large choice of stores in which they can redeem them. However, when they try to spend the vouchers, they will find that the very stores that have what they want – like Kmart and Big W – don’t accept them.  

My advice to anyone thinking of giving a gift voucher to someone this Christmas is:

• Try to get a voucher that at least offers a discount. For example, gift vouchers I get through API offer a 5% discount. It’s not much, but it does make it more worth while.
• Make sure the voucher is for a store to which the recipient has easy access, and stocks items that they want and like.
• Consider giving a voucher for a reputable online store. This can make it a fun and, unfortunately, addictive experience for the recipient.

I still think, the best way to go is to put some cash into an envelope, with a note suggesting the way it should be spent.

The real problem

Recently a work colleague showed me an article written by Jeremy Clarke, of Top Gear fame, in which he wrote that instead of driver’s tests, people should sit IQ tests. I am not a great fan of Jeremy Clarke, but I think he is spot on with this one.

The real problem facing us today, particularly on the roads, is that the human being is a rather stupid animal – and some are more stupid than others.

In days past, this was shown in some unbelievably stupid military decisions, like ordering thousands of horsemen to charge against heavy artillery. Fortunately, only a few stupid people attained that sort of power, with the majority happy to do menial work like shovelling shit out of stables.

Unfortunately, today almost everyone is able to operate sophisticated machinery in the form of motor vehicles. Something that very few have the intelligence to do. The problem has been exacerbated by high wages enabling most people to afford high performance cars. In the past, only professionals with highly paid jobs could afford them. These people were generally more intelligent, so they had some idea of how to operate them. Now, anybody who can hold a shovel in their hand can own a turbo charged high performance car – with disastrous consequences.

When you think of it, spending all your money on something you cannot legally use is a stupid thing in itself. It is like buying skis in Perth, and then complaining that the government does not provide snow for them to be used.

Most of my drive to work is on a single lane road where it is not possible to overtake. I believe that speed limits are there for a reason, so I stick to them. This infuriates many motorists who somehow feel that they know better, and I am denying them their God-given right to drive at any speed they like. I almost always pick up a tailgater – obviously a moron who is unable to foresee the possible consequences of his actions. Those with a bit of intelligence will sit on my back bumper and then fall back when they see it does not make me go any faster. The less intelligent will continue to drive close by, and show their annoyance by swaying from side to side.

The one part of my journey is the real intelligence tester. The road has two lanes for a short distance. This is where all the intellectually stunted drivers accelerate past me and normally  have to brake heavily to avoid hitting the car in front of me.

What really gets me are those that accuse speed trapping as being revenue raising. They just can’t seem to understand that you have to break the law to get fined. If you stick to the speed limits, it will never happen. I think of some speed traps as being a special tax on idiots, and am only too pleased to have someone pay some of my taxes.

Imagine what it would be like of some of these idiots were allowed to pilot a plane.  Some of their comments would be:

• “Why should I drop down to a lower altitude, all because some guy in the control tower says I must. I know how to fly this thing. Other lower powered buzz boxes can just get out of my way.”
• “If I overtake this guy taxiing in front of me by going onto the grass, I will be able to take off before him.”
• “If I sit on  this guy’s tail, he might get out of the way so that I can land in front of him.”

The IQ test for drivers will have the following questions that will immediately disqualify them from every having a driving license if they answer ‘Yes’.

1. Do you hold your steering wheel with one hand at the 12.00 o’clock position?
2. Do you drive with your fog lights one, even though there is no fog?
3. Do you intend buying a four wheel drive?
4. Do you want  personalised number plates that say “Bubba”, “Hot gear” or the like.
5. Do you think it is OK to tailgate if the driver in front is going too slowly?
6. Do you believe that the right indicator should never be used on a roundabout?

Cyclists

In these days of global warming, with us trying to reduce greenhouse gasses, one would think cyclists would be praised for doing their bit. However, this does not appear to be the case.

Driving home from work yesterday, in a rather narrow stretch of road, I battled to get past some clown on a bicycle in an obscenely tight pair of lycra trousers. On the side of the road was a perfectly smooth completely empty cycle path, but this idiot had decided that he had a right to be on the road, never mind the inconvenience to all the motorists. I reflected on what his motive could possibly be. He is not alone in doing this. Every day I encounter cyclists who shun the cycle paths on roundabouts and just brazenly dart into the middle of the road, and then wonder why they narrowly miss being hit by a car. In every case, they are dressed like clowns with tight fitting lycra trousers.

It’s a funny thing, when people start rding bikes, they are generally quite amiable and pleasant. The rot sets in when they buy their lycra pants with the padding in the bum, and then they get quite nasty. Over time their looks change. Their noses grow really long and their faces become thinner. Most become really ugly. I assume this can be due to carbon monoxide poisoning.

There was an episode in South Park, where people who drove hybrid cars got enveloped in a cloud of smugness, to the extent that they enjoyed smelling their own farts. There is a huge amount of truth in this. Cyclists certainly get enveloped in smugness, and actually deride those who have not taken up cycling. Instead of smelling their own farts, they tend to proudly show off their usually ample genitalia through those lycra trousers.  All that rubbing on the saddle unfortunately gives them quite a bit to show off as well.

The scourge of the Mcmansions

A recent phenomenon that has arisen is the Mcmansion, which I think is mainly due to people having more money than brains.

In the good old days, you could buy a block of land in an area that you could afford, and then build a comfortable house on it. Typically the house would have a three or four bedrooms and one or two bathrooms. There would be enough space on the block to have a proper back yard for children to play in and ample space to park their cars. Some of these houses were quite attractive, and many used the slope of the block to create interesting split-level features.

Alas, all has changed. Developers now try to get as much out of an area as possible by creating tiny blocks of land and having the parks double up as storm-water drains. The latter have been given the fancy name of ’swales’, because ‘drain’ does not sound as good. Worse still, all the new developments have terraced flat blocks retained by limestone walls. The developers then sell these postage sized blocks as ‘lifestyle’ n low maintenance blocks.

Stupid people buy these ‘lifestyle’ blocks at exorbitant prices, and then proceed to build the most inappropriate dwellings on them. The higher, the bigger the more ostentatious the better. Some people spend huge amounts of money on columns that would do the Acropolis proud. For some strange reason, many now tend to paint their mac-mansions khaki or grey. They also love tin roofs.

The main objective of the mac-mansion is to be as big as possible, and to take up as much space on the block as possible. The result is that what could have been a picturesque beach suburb is turned into what looks like an industrial area. The mac-mansions in the front street completely block out any views for those one street behind. This does not stop the houses behind having huge balconies that provide views into the surrounding houses.

When I drive or walk through some of these estates and look at all the ugly houses, I can’t help reflecting on what a stupid animal the human being is.

The cherry on the top is, the people who build these obscene houses never seem to make allowances for parking. They forget that they typically own two four-wheel drives, a huge stink-boat on a trailer and a separate trailer. Their visitors also invariably own huge four wheel drives. This results in trucks and boats being parked over public verges and foot-paths, making the area look like a car lot.

Why do people do this? I think it is for the same reason that men tend to drive large four wheel drives – they are trying to make for some short-coming in their anatomy. Women drive four-wheel drives so ‘my children will be safer’.  Never mind the other peoples’ children in smaller cars who are now in more danger competing with their trucks.  Of course, it is purely out of selfishness.

All I can hope for is that some day sanity will prevail, and the mac-mansions will become less popular. However, I am not holding my breath.