Automatic Door Locks: Really?

I don’t like it that my car doors lock automatically. I don’t like it that each door can’t be controlled independently. If it’s so important that in case of accident it is safer to have the doors locked then let them lock on impact. We are creating fears in people which have no basis in fact unless you live a world with zero tolerance for misfortune. Not every death in a nursing home or hospital is a physician error. People die. I’m sorry to bring you that news. Isn’t zero tolerance for misfortune a zero tolerance for God, for mysterious ways, for fate? s But back to the doors, if accidents are the rationale for automatic door locks, then let’s have the airbags deploy when you start your car: better safe than sorry, right?

I just don’t like the implication. Is someone really going to run up and hijack my car? One in many million possibilities, but, maybe. Do I want to be protected just in case? I think, no, I don’t. If I see someone running up to the car I’ll lock the door. Or if someone grabs the door handle while the car is running couldn’t the doors lock automatically then? I don’t like being cocooned away from everybody by well-meaning (or more truthfully, those who think they are well-meaning but are manipulating instead) meddlers in my life. I’m not a libertarian. I love what a free society gives me-if it will just give the right to lock or unlock my doors as I choose.

There used to be a hierarchy of people that went,

Upper-Upper Class

Upper Class

Lower Upper Class

Upper Middle Class

Middle Class

Lower Middle Class

Upper Lower Class

Lower Class

Destitute.

Don’t blame me. Blame it on Emile Durkheim or that ilk.

There are people, places and things  I’m afraid of, I’d be a fool to deny that,  but my fear’s not based on this taxonomy. I can’t pick one of these and say it’s them, those worthless so and– I’m afraid of.

I’m afraid of anyone who lacks dreams of their own. You can see it in their eyes, the vacancy neon is flashing like a motel desperate for people to stop by. Desperate to find the way out of the  miasma: The whirlpool they’re drowning in. You can tell they’re relying on some myth they have been sold.

Those myths come a quarter a dozen. They used to be a dime a dozen-inflation, you know? Pumpernickel is now Pump-a-dime. (Stolen from Uncle Milty).

Thanks for listening.

 

 

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