“I just returned home and my whole family’s been shot!”
By me, should have added the father. But then, should’ve, would’ve, might’ve. Before killing his family and himself, the man should have done a lot of things, but he chose his way out. One, incidentally, that was suggested by the man’s supervisor in a stunning case of “open mouth-insert foot” disease.
Another kind of "Idiot's Guide"
But I would be lying if I said I had an ounce of sympathy toward anyone but the kids. And, maybe, even the open-mouth guy. Something tells me, he is next in line for our lengthening unemployment queues. Seriously, there were better ways of figuring out a bad situation. After all, joblessness is 7.5% across the US. In South Carolina, it is 9.5%. The consumer confidence index is at all time low; 37 now vs. 87 exactly a year ago speaks for itself. But we don’t see suicides sweeping the nation ala “The Happening”, the latest M. Night Shaymalan’s flick (no, don’t get me started on that!). What’s stopping the rest of us from just ceasing to contribute to the world overpopulation? What’s stopping the Somalia from just erasing itself from the map?
The man, by the way, was a hospital employee. So was his wife. Considering healthcare is a single fastest and STILL growing industry in the United States, what exactly was these people’s problem? Sometimes, I think, it is the desire to achieve glory, the posthumous fame, that is the driving force behind those by-the-number murder-suicides. After all, what heights could they have scaled on their own, leading their boring lower-middle class lives, raising their kids, watching TV, missing church for various and sundry reasons, putting up their Christmas tree to the sound of trite holiday tunes as ubiquitous as the Black Friday ads?
But now, look, they’re page 1, and everyone is supposed to feel sorry. Isn’t it our, a failing society’s, fault?
No, it is not! It is not the fault of the overzealous supervisor. It is not the fault of media for sensationalizing the preceding grand gestures of the similar ilk. It is not even the fault of the self-same media-eviscerated W. Bush (nope, not now, nor ever was I a fan).
If anything, it is a fault of mediocrity, of dreaming dreams one doesn’t try to attain. There are better ways of finding acclaim. With what he did, there’d have to be! Or failing that, a comfort — in, maybe, being the best at what we are already privileged to be, a thread in this dirty, hole-ridden, stinking, infinitely precious tapestry that is life.
But hey, if that wasn’t his cup of tea, fine. He could have donated body organs for dough. He could have hired himself out for a staring role in a snuff flick. There is always shortage of terrorists looking like they couldn’t hurt a fly to torch a busy fruit market; from what I understand, they’re nicely paid even if they work you to death. He and the missus could have scammed their life insurance. He could have…
Wait, why am I releasing this for free? Look for the newest Idiot’s Guide in your local book retailer. And I do mean Idiot’s Guide.
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