Eric Cantona once said “that when a seagull follows the sardine trawler he does not ask where the fish come from.” And a pack of thick football reporters were left scratching their heads while a bunch of philosophy majors scratched theirs wondering how a football player said something more indecipherable then themselves. But I, I was not left deflaking my skull.
It was simple to see that man, a creature whose survival depended on his malevolence to nature, was simply continuing a tradition taught to him by hardy forefathers. It was almost as if the destruction was destined. So the seagull simply followed out of hunger more than anything else.
But I am not a fishing trawler I hear you scream, nor have I ever been a seagull you add with haste. Ah but you have been a man, or woman, and as such prey to the weakness of human desire. You ever stand in the checkout line at the supermarket and do just that. Check everyone out. To list the countless puns and ridiculous pick up lines that ran through my head would require a workforce not dissimilar to the human genome project. But I am not sordid. I draw comparisons between the cleft in a peach and the cleft in the woman in front of me and still no protest is sounded. I even go as far and imagine the act of debauchery I would make this lady privy to but still I am not a sleaze. But put a whiff of alcohol on my breath and a request for a pleasant stroll through the park comes across as an invite to the deviant’s ball.
So what happened? Did I really turn into Mr. Hyde or were my actions misinterpreted. Clearly the thoughts were all my own hormonal urges of post pubescent seed sowing. I was man before and I was man after. The only difference was the alcohol. Some would have you believe that was the contributing factor but luckily I drink enough of the stuff to know the truth.
You see, when a man is born into this life he is given two things a soul to call his own and a list of rules that contradict his very being. We generally call these rules taboo. One example might be that you never tell a lady she looks her age. Another is not to start a fight indiscriminately. So we push these urges back. Repress them so to speak. But you needn’t think that they’ll stay hidden for long. The urge to throw that ugly vase you got for your wedding might become too much when you open little Johnny’s letter from school. It might even go throw the window your tasteless husband bought without your consultation.
Which is where the liquor comes in. Alcohol is repressions kryptonite. You could be the most calm collected person in the world, but a few beers and random shove and you’ll match a snickers bar for nuttiness. It was not the seventeen glasses of rum that made you do it. It was the inability to deal with a perfectly normal situation in a reasonable way. If you can teach a man to deal with confrontation in a healthy non violent way whilst sober, then the urge to king hit a guy who looked in your general direction will be non-existent. And really who hasn’t walked into a bar and looked around. Chances are he was looking for hot chicks and got your ugly mug instead. But for a bit of common sense and an end to the blame game such ugliness could be a thing of the past.
But unfortunately it is taboo to change taboo, and the list of taboo involves the issue of status so when your boss makes life miserable you must grin ask politely for another eight hours of serfdom. Then the pent up rage of a generation gets shunted from work to life and is left no escape because you can’t even yell at strangers anymore. So the poor nine to five workaholics get blind every Friday then front up Monday with black eyes and swollen knuckles and nobody says anything. This man is normal, for now. And we all get back to hauling in the nets while the seagulls trail and nobody says a thing for the damn sardine and i'm sick of it.
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