Hitting on Purpose

A couple of weekends ago I went to my first demolition derby at the Cumberland County Fair with Mindy, Eric and Kristy.  It was the most fun I've ever had at a county fair.  Or, like, ever.  My initial thoughts on attending the derby were, "Really?  A derby?  Don't cars just go around in a circle and hit each other?  That sounds ... lame.  But I trust M&E, so sure ... whatever.  Here's my Kristy's $10, let's roll out."  And you know what?  I will never doubt them again because it was a hoot and a half.  Nay! Two hoots!  Many hoots!  It was edge-of-my-seat-yelling-and-screaming-please-get-back-out-there-and-hit-more-things kind of fun.

You know what else?  I'm totally doing it.  I want to smash into things.  On purpose.  I do it accidentally all the time, I might as well put myself in a venue where it's ok, even encouraged, to smash into things.  And I want to win at smashing.  If I can win at anything, it's smashing into other things.  This is happening, folks.  I even have a plan for my derby car:

VAGINA MONSTER!

But that's not what I want to talk about.  I want to talk about compassion and how I am sometimes lacking.  There was a girl driver out there in the sea of menfolk.  One girl, 20ish guys.  She had to call it quits in the middle of her heat because she hurt her leg.  She limped off the field and I later saw her with a bandage wrapped around her shin/calf.  That's a bummer and everything, but ... SUCK IT UP, WOMAN!  You're going to STOP THE DERBY so you can get a little band-aid on your leg?  Seriously?! 

I got a boo-boo.

I'm not saying she has to be out there representing women everywhere because she's the only vag in a peen-dominated sport/hobby, but .... no, actually, that is what I'm saying.  Suck it up.  Unless one of your limbs is lying on the passenger seat, you do not get out of your car.  And if you can walk off the field of your own volition, you definitely don't get out of your car.

I was chatting about this to a friend of a friend recently and he said, "So, do you do something compassionate in your line of work...?"  It was funny, he meant it to be funny, but I've thought about it since, realizing I sounded like a jerk.  The little derby girl was young, probably only a teenager, it could have been her first derby experience and maybe she found it terrifying rather than liberating.  And perhaps, she really did hurt herself (I only saw a little ol' bandage, but what do I know?).  Rather than booing her, I could have applauded her for taking a chance on something potentially dangerous and instead, I mocked her.

Am I dead inside?

Even as I'm writing this, I'm still thinking she was a quitter and a crybaby.  What happened to my compassion?  Is Northern Virginia turning me into an unfeeling, uncaring cynical asshat?  I don't feel sorry for people who sleep/get involved with married people and are all shocked and shaken when it doesn't work out in the end.  I don't feel bad for stupid people who do nothing to better themselves or their lives and instead go all ostrich, sticking their head in the sand, crying "Woe is me, life is hard."  SUCK IT UP.  Change the things you don't like about your life or SHUT UP.  If you're too lazy to use your turn signal, I don't feel bad honking at you.  Etc.

Am I projecting?  Internalizing?  Am I mocking other people because I feel like a quitter in some way in my own life?  I recognize there may be some truth to that.  (Though not so much with the marrieds or the bettering; I'm good there.  And I ALWAYS use my turn signal.)

There is a point to all of this rambling mess of a post -- mocking the young derby quitter has inspired August's challenge, which I'll talk about next.  Rock on.