Monday, February 29, 2016

Bob of Suburbia

I've been thinking about mythology, heroic journeys, and noble causes. Often there are great warriors and great battles, but perhaps these are just metaphors for more mundane activities.

I am Bob of Suburbia, and I made it to the grocery store despite seemingly insurmountable odds. Traffic lights were stacked against me, but I persevered and eventually arrived at my destination.

Still, there was the matter of parking. I and other potential shoppers, each of whom needed to buy more supplies to feed their families, circled around the lot in search of a place to moor our SUVs. Mine was running low on fuel, and I would need to find a gas station as well, but not until my own provisions had been procured.

At last I found a spot near the store. The driver of a smaller car saw it at the same time, but after a brief staredown I beat her to it. She raised her middle finger at me and swore oaths as she passed. Perhaps another day she would prevail, but not today.

Once inside the supermarket I grabbed a basket from among the few remaining and barreled my way down various aisles, with little regard for whatever or whoever might cross my path. I have children at home in desperate need of frozen pizza and ice cream sandwiches. To stand in my way is to keep them from getting what they require.

I am the provider for my family, a responsibility I do not take lightly. If ramming my cart into your cart helps me reach my worthy goal, so be it. Your cart will be rammed, your needs be damned. We can step outside and fight to the death for honor and a carton of eggs.

So it has been, and so it evermore shall be.

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