Posted on 05/08/2002 7:11:57 AM PDT by xsysmgr
No society has ever been more aware of its victims than ours. Even at the dawn of the new millennium, though, there is one group that continues to endure abuse and contempt at the hands of the general culture. I speak of the Stupid: I know because I am one of them.
It's only recently that Stupid People, or "Persons of Density" as some of us prefer to be called, have come to recognize our systematic oppression at the hands of the intelligent majority. Yet the statistics are overwhelming. Stupid People earn 23 percent less per capita than intelligent people, yet we put in an average of 7.1 more hours every week. Moreover, a Stupid Person is 66 percent more likely to be turned down for a bank loan, a figure that doesn't even take into account those who give up when we cannot fill out all the forms. Insurance companies grow fat off us: We pay on average 14 percent more for term-life benefits, 67 percent more for automobile coverage, and a whopping 111 percent more for accidental death and dismemberment policies.
Numbers, though, tell only part of the story. The un-leveling of the playing field begins with childhood and remains pervasive throughout a lifetime. Historically, academic standards have been created by intelligent people and, therefore, reflect a cultural bias against stupidity. How else account for the absence of a single profanity on the Scholastic Aptitude Test? Whereas intelligent people are squeamish about such language, a Stupid Person realizes that a good curse can function as noun, verb, adjective, or even adverb in any given sentence; we utilize obscenities the way our neighbors use punctuation. We clarify, delimit, and reinforce our thoughts with reference to the five or six expressions which, tellingly, this very website will not even print. By whose decision, I ask, is our grammar marginalized?
Indeed, the stigma of stupidity is inescapable. Stupid People remain, in many ways, in the closet. The shelves in our homes are still divided between books, for which we have no use, and stuffed animals. We scatter our walls with abstract, rather than representational art . . . knowing that if called on to explain a piece we can shrug and seem intelligent. Such denial is part of the problem. A friend who recently "came out" sledgehammered a bust of Beethoven on his front lawn, then air-guitared around the rubble. This was his protest against Cerebrocentrism, his announcement to the world: "I'm here! I'm stupid! Get used to it!"
For every case like my friend's, however, there are hundreds who silently submit to all manner of assaults upon their dignity and constitutional rights. Witness, for example, the widening restrictions on cigarette smoking. Since Stupid People make up a substantial portion of those who smoke, these bans are a thinly veiled attack upon stupidity itself. Even in the privacy of our homes, we are confronted by smoke detectors — not to mention window guards, grounded outlets, and childproof caps. What, I ask, has become of individual liberty?
In public, in private, even in transit, the dogs of acumen nip at our heels: Several car manufacturers now install automatic seatbelts. Obnoxious buzzers were bad enough — at least we could buckle the belts behind us. But these new contraptions descend upon us against our wills, harness us (as it were) within the grasp of intelligence. We are, in effect, denied the freedom to express ourselves; we are denied the freedom to be.
Still, our time draws near.
Already, our votes are being courted by political candidates who structure their remarks into ever-shorter sound bites. Soon, perhaps, our influence here will match the sway we've long exercised, by sheer consumerism, over advertising — for whom do you think the "jingle" was invented? Look around! That's us, that studio audience howling at double entendres as the man and woman describe their first date. And that fellow on the corner, pointing his finger and asking, "Who are you to tell me?" . . . he's one of ours.
Today, the media.
Tomorrow?
Meanwhile, we turn to familiar consolations. Tractor pulls. French philosophy. Unprotected sex with strangers. It is only among ourselves that we can let out hair down. (We are, by and large, a hirsute lot.) But be forewarned. Our patience is not inexhaustible. We will not suffer forever on the margins.
— Mark Goldblatt is author of a recently released novel, Africa Speaks. He teaches at Fashion Institute of Technology of the State University of New York.
This is not a white man's game, it is true of all egotestical people.
Stupid people should have to wear signs that just say, "I’m Stupid." That way you wouldn’t rely on them, would you? You wouldn’t ask them anything. It would be like, "Excuse me...oops, never mind. I didn’t see your sign."
It’s like before my wife and I moved. Our house was full of boxes and there was a U-Haul truck in our driveway.
My friend comes over and says "Hey, you moving?"
"Nope. We just pack our stuff up once or twice a week to see how many boxes it takes. Here’s your sign."
A couple of months ago I went fishing with a buddy of mine, we pulled his boat into the dock, I lifted up this big ’ol stringer of bass and this idiot on the dock goes,
"Hey, y’all catch all them fish?"
"Nope — talked ’em into giving up. Here’s your sign."
I was watching one of those animal shows on the Discovery Channel. There was a guy inventing a shark bite suit. Now, there’s only one sure fire way to test it.
"Alright Jimmy, you got that shark suit on, it looks good... They want you to jump into this here pool of sharks, and you tell us if it hurts when they bite you."
"Well, all right, but hold my sign. I don’t wanna lose it."
Last time I had a flat tire, I pulled my truck into one of those side-of-the-road gas stations. The attendant walks out, looks at my truck, looks at me, and I SWEAR he said,
"Tire go flat?"
I couldn’t resist. Said, "Nope. I was driving around and those other three just swelled right up on me. Here’s your sign."
We were trying to sell our car about a year ago. A guy came over to the house and drove the car around for about 45 minutes. We get back to the house, he gets out of the car, reaches down and grabs the exhaust pipe, then says,
"Darn that’s hot!"
See? If he’d been wearing his sign, I could have stopped him.
I learned to drive an 18 wheeler in my days of adventure. Wouldn’t ya know I misjudged the height of a bridge. The truck got stuck and I couldn’t get it out no matter how I tried. I radioed in for help and eventually a local cop shows up to take the report. He went through his basic questioning..ok..no problem. I thought sure he was clear of needing a sign...until he asked
"So..is your truck stuck?"
I couldn’t help myself! I looked at him, looked back at the rig and then back to him and said "No, I’m delivering a bridge... here’s your sign."
I think he stole that metaphor. A Person of Density could not have created it. ;^)
Do you?
How'd you get my details, Ben?
"Never use hair dryer in bathtub or shower." Indeed they do.
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