Have You Met Adam?

Mary asked if I had encountered a particular Adam Henry yesterday. “No,” I replied, “not one in particular.” What prompted yesterday’s “tirade” was my realization of how ubiquitous Adam has become. I commute 17.8 miles to and from work, Monday through Thursday. When incidents don’t otherwise prevent it, I drive the freeways that are all posted 65 mph. As a rule, when I drive the speed limit (which I have fanatically observed ever since one Officer Adam cited Rebecca for traveling 5 mph over the posted limited) I literally impede traffic, including the Officer Adams that speed past me in their squad cars and motorcycles. A very unscientific observation is that the most flagrant violators are driving obscenely large, gas-guzzling, emissions-belching behemoths, but that may be because there are just so many of those to begin with. I am privileged to park for free in the county garage, and I am absolutely amazed by the preponderance of these vehicles being driven by county employees. Some are so tall that they barely clear the ceiling, some are so long that they protrude well beyond the parking space into the driving lane, and, again, the Adams and Evas (my attempt to be gender inclusive when referring to the Henrys) driving these vehicles do their best to reach top speed (and maximum inefficiency) by the end of each ramp for which they need to slam on the brakes and attempt to negotiate the turn onto the next ramp. One sterling Adam actually has to jockey his intimidator back and forth a couple of times to make the turns. Did I encounter a particular Adam Henry yesterday? No, I just get to survive them daily like all the rest of us do. I can dimly remember a time when rudeness and slovenliness was unacceptable, but in the Age of Adam Henry there is little hope that the meek shall inherit the Earth.