Someone tucked a note into my car door this week, a little typewritten glimpse into their paranoid world.
Judging by the style of writing, it could have been any number of people I have frequent contact with — Ranting in the first paragraph about the cadres of elites marching across the world and trampling the rights of the common man. How the governments, the courts, the police, the press — me too, I guess — are all in league with them.
The second paragraph, could have narrowed it down a bit. If he blamed the churches, it would have been a left wing ranter. Darn few of them nowadays, but I do know a couple.
But this one went straight the other direction, telling me that conspirators are trying to keep God and man separate. He ended it with a prayer, and a warning: A hard rain was coming, to wash all the scum of the sidewalks. Better be sure I was safely inside.
Finally, a signature.
Ahh, I thought. Him. Haven’t heard from him in a while. Nice to see he’s keeping busy.
And I filed it away in my whackadoo file, safe there for a day when things are just making too much sense.
I don’t get these kinds of notes as often as I once did, and they can be kind of alarming when they show up just out of the blue. Was this person watching me? Did he single out my car specifically? Nope , a woman I work with found the same note, tucked under a windshield wiper. He was just guessing, like a message in a bottle, hoping his note would find a friendly reader.
His opinions, though they’re not uncommon. I read a lot of writing from people worried about what THEY are doing, what THEY are up to and how THEY have a plot and a plan to undo everyone else. His opinions really only differ in his inability to articulate his fears well. Others do a magnificent job and almost have you ready to believe in a power elite with a plan and financing, whoever they are.
My only problem is that I know many of the people they’re really afraid of, and I see how they get their work done. And they tend to be just like the rest, poor schlubs trying to do a job, fix a problem and get home in time to watch part of the game. Leaders, bankers, lawyers — even the ones that think they’re really smart — get just as confused and lost and foul things up just as mightily as the rest.
I’ve told some the more ardent whackadoos exactly that, and they just scowl at me. After all, I must be one of those power elites.
But they ought to be able to figure that out just by looking at my dirty, rusty, beat up car. A power elite would have a much shinier ride.
Maybe I should just start locking my car door.