Camouflage

This is a short comment in the "vain" of a person's costume affecting how others interact with the wearer. Today I dressed as a conservative white collar business man and walked around the center of the city. I did that because that is how I dress for my conservative white collar business job, and I got up too late to make a lunch this morning. While I was out getting lunch I ran an errand for my wife, and that errand took me right by the Big College campus.

There was a protest going on. A very small horde of hippies was protesting the destruction of mountaintops in the mining of coal in West Virginia. These hippies were all hipped out, right down to the fashionably bloodshot eyes. I had to jostle my way through them to get to the African store. I felt like I was back at the Dead show at Saratoga in '86.

But none of the hipsters felt like I was. They gave me obvious sneers and a wide berth. I think I heard, "narc" from under someone's breath. Wouldn't you have to be the stupidest narc in the world to dress like a banker to catch hippies with drugs?

I had to laugh to myself. I felt like telling them not to judge me by my appearance. Ironically, I had the same sentiment at Saratoga in '86, and so many other shows and occasions, but I was the hippie. I wondered if I ever truly learned anything at all. I wonder how many other conservative business men I sit across conference tables from are really open-minded, values-oriented, continually learning consciouses in disguise?

I got into the African store and there were a bunch of hipsters buying zig-zags and smelling all of the incense and browsing the "detoxifying" agents. I spoke to the man behind the counter in my wife's language (which I guess is also mine inasmuch as I have co-opted it) and told him that I had to send money to my in-laws but that I didn't have a lot of time left on my lunchbreak. He called me over to the right machine in front of the line. The other patrons may have been indignant but they didn't say anything, perhaps because they had no idea what transpired in our conversation. The man asked me how the protesters could really be angry if they had never truly been hungry? I told him that mountains are worth saving, and took my leave.

I wondered if they would fight as hard for the people who live in the mountains as they did for the mountains themselves. Especially if they wore white shirts and maroon ties...