Arrogance and nostalgia

Friday night I got hungry. So, me and my ailing brakes decided to grind our way down to the corner convenience store for a soft pretzel. On the way in I opened the door and allowed a young squire in a purple sleeveless top to egress from the establishment. In a vulgar display of pure teen arrogance he sauntered past without even a hint of eye contact and not a word of thanks. Never mind that southern hospitality is dead.

It just adds to my mounting evidence that this generation of Americans is probably the most arrogant ever. Maybe I am an old fuddy-duddy, but I still value the thin veneer of courtesy that the south was supposed to be known for. I grew up saying "Yes, ma'am" and "No sir" and opening doors for people. Granted, those habits were forced upon me by my mother's sociopath third husband, but I digress.

If we southerners no longer even attempt to perpetuate the illusion of our genteel traditions, what is left over? The South, when it forgets it's storied hospitality, is not a pretty place.

Meanwhile, I noticed that there was a Suburban double parked precariously close to my own vehicle. I toyed with the idea that if he hit my car, I might be able to get my insurance to pay for my brakes, as unrealistic as that may be. I had that awkward feeling as I approached my car to leave. The one where you're sure you're about to witness the beauty of stupidity in motion. However, it became a opportunity for unexpected self-realization.

The gentleman piloting the monstrous Chevy called out to me as he backed out of the parking space.He said "That brings back memories". Needless to say I was confused at first. He then gestured to the shirt I was wearing; A lovely punk t-shirt I rescued from a Hot-Topic some years ago. He then began naming all the old bands he used to listen to and it sounded like the roll-call of my formative years. Misfits, S.O.D, Circle Jerks, Black Flag, etc.

I turned to my admirer and said "Well, dude. Some of those bands are still around, and you can go listen to them right now". He lamented that his familial responsibilities would interfere and his numerous offspring wouldn't appreciate that kind of music. I suggested that he try starting them on the Ramones. After all, it was my gate-way drug. He laughed and we went our separate ways. In my own arrogance, the first thought that popped into my mind was the old maxim that if you're not punk now, you never were.

I remember the old days, going to the Wreck Room on a Friday night when I was 17. Back then, punks and metal-heads were so rare that when two met on the street, they gave a mutual sign of respect and possibly became instant friends. I loved that feeling during those halcyon days, and evidently, I'm not the only one.