While on our way to the airport to fetch the mum from a trip, a pickup truck filled with people seated in the open rear cab sharply cuts into our lane, causing my son to swerve and pound at the horn loudly. Jolted from my brief reverie, I could only mutter manure under my breath. A few minutes later, we see it a few hundred meters ahead, waved aside by highway cops, obviously after having been shot by their Star Wars speed gun. As we drove past, I felt a few seconds of malicious celebration at first but later, it turned into a lingering guilt with a surge I can only describe as moral awkwardness. A bad case of Schadenfreude fail.
A voice in my head admonishes me for being the impulsive troll. Who knows, that vehicle might have been hurrying to assist another motorist up ahead or worse, responding to a more pressing emergency, it said. Hoping to brush aside the guilt a bit, I offered, it could also be they might just be in desperate need of a rest room. Yet, whatever the cause, even as these notorious highway fiends may pose as cause of possible road mishaps, there’s still no reason to be mean.
Perhaps, in calmer settings, when one’s not as stressed, that inner voice might be more forgiving, even if you suddenly bark loudly like Mister Hyde and emerging out of Dr. Jekyll’s cool persona. But yes, we still forget sometimes. Be that as it may, enjoying a few seconds of malicious delight tells us something about being human, especially when we feel the other party might really deserve whatever small discomfort befalls them. “Merese”, Visayans would say, indicating karma is real. Others who justify this might as well also add, those few seconds are worth savoring, although longer than that, something is already wrong with your attitude towards other people.
Many a time too, whatever has happened to someone in the past gets repeated ad nauseam during gatherings of same-feathered Marites-es. It’s as though at every meeting, the object of ridicule is served as main fare. On these occasions, I usually don’t rock the boat lest I be served as side dish, no patriot this. So through it all, let’s just credit it to our being frail beings.
My mind is forever locked in on a smirking image of Muttley, the dog sidekick of a villain in boomer times’ Wacky Races. Come to think of it, it might be a good idea to have his image printed on T-shirts and be handed out as gifts this Christmas for Maritess-friends out there.
