The Challenge of Stupidity

I avoid herds of all kinds. Sheep, cattle and stupers (short yet again, for undisguisedly stupid persons). However, there are times when joining a herd is necessary as when waiting in amusement park lines, trying to get into the ladies room

during intermission at the Hollywood Bowl, or watching the marvelous Tiger Woods at the driving range, like I did two days ago.

Every year around this time, I accompany my younger son to the Target World Golf Challenge where top professionals play. These athletes set exemplary examples of behavior; they are a pleasure to behold. And I’ve gratefully noticed the absence of stupers over the past four years that I’ve been attending…that is, until this year.

The crowd at the driving range was three deep, all standing. The first row was obviously reserved for those of Amazonian proportions as no one under six feet two inches stood there, male or female. As I pondered why this was, a petite woman, nicely dressed and in her sixties or so, came to stand next to me.

“Excuse me,” she said to the gent in front of us.

After her third “excuse me,” I noticed three things:

  1. The guy who ignored her had rooted himself to the ground, practically buried to the knees, lest some one overtake his coveted spot;
  2. The woman uttering “excuse me,” was Tiger Woods’ mom; and
  3. Her diamond earrings were the size of marshmallows.

Had I not been dazzled and mesmerized by #3, I would have willingly tackled the ignorant offender, but he finally, grudgingly turned around and gave her a dirty look while she explained,

“I just need to go to the front for a moment, and I’ll be out of your way.”

And she did just that. It was not pretty viewing the inconsiderate stuper budge a whole two inches for Mother Woods. Stupers do not understand the concept of doing a favor or behaving courteously without a direct, immediate reward.

Later that morning, my son desired a spot behind the second tee box to ensure he could properly view Tiger’s swing mechanics when it came time for Tiger to tee off. Sucker Martyr that I am for my children, I volunteered to secure a space there in advance while the rest of the herd and my son waited on Hole One.

Visitors milled about, some standing, others strolling. The temperature was in the low forties, so I decided to jog over to warm myself up. No sooner did I begin my trek when I noticed people from all around pick up their feet and follow me. Soon I was in a neck to neck race with an elderly fellow vying for the lead. He had no idea where I was headed. I considered leading my pack into the gushing stream running alongside us or even off a nearby steeply sloping cliff, just to see how far they’d go. But I’d promised my son I’d stop at Hole Two.

I slowed down and slipped away at the second tee box, while my pack continued with the elderly man leading. I spotted the fellow ten holes later, sweating profusely, heavily panting and passed out on the grass. Stupers are mortified of being left behind or missing out on important action even when they are unsure as to what the action is.

While I waited, other players came through; I suffered through inane comments like “I could hit better than that;” idiot autograph seekers would yell utter nonsense at golfers such as, “It’s for my sick cousin who’s only four years old and blind!”

To make matters worse, I needed to use the facilities. The only formal bathrooms around were portable potties which I refused to frequent. The stench alone recalled a mile high pile of cattle dung. The onslaught of stupers continued; I was so disgusted that by the time a one-legged man in a wheelchair pulled up next to me, I eyed him suspiciously, certain that his stump of a leg was fake.

Upon closer examination (I dropped my hankie to see if he could pick it up; the poor guy nearly plummeted out of his seat), I was ashamed of myself. I had to give myself a time-out and a stern lecture about controlling my temper. Being around stupers and the blatant displays of their moronic lack of decorum had sent me into a subtle, but nonetheless unbecoming, rage.

I talked myself into a calm and promised to act indifferently no matter what the stupers around me said or did. Besides one minor slip-up when one of my previous followers stopped next to me and panted loudly into my ear in an effort to discover what had happened to the group that had been running behind me, I was successful.

Tomorrow I leave for a two day trip to another golf tournament. This time my son is playing. But don’t worry, I’m ready. I will be totally unaffected by any and all stuper activity. As long as they don’t pant in my ear.
Keep thinking!


5 Responses to “The Challenge of Stupidity”

  1. Sarah says:

    Oh I so can’t stand being trapped in a herd! Especially if a stampede starts. Those stupers are downright dangerous!

  2. Agnes Mildew says:

    Oh dear. That sounds like anathaema to the soul. I never realised that golf could attract such morons, believing it, as you state, to be a reflection of exemplary behaviour. Couldn’t you carry a stink bomb with you and set it off whenever there are so many stupers in your vicinity? The smell might be revolting, but at least it would become a stuper-free zone…

  3. Suzie says:

    I was trapped with a human herd, at the movie theater. Now I usually leave movies or shows a of couple minutes early because otherwise, it is practically impossible to leave. They don’t care if you fall on the ground, or drop dead. They just push and shove to pass. True stupers aren’t they?

  4. Keli says:

    You are right – a stampeding herd of stupers is a nightmare. Fortunately, I’ve not experienced that phenomena.
    Maybe I should try eating garlic when caught in a crowd of stupers. Not just one or two cloves, mind you, but a slew of them. If it wards off vampires, perhaps it would protect against stupers too.
    Yes, stupers do exist at movie theaters too. In fact, I’ll be visiting a popular movie theater soon. Perhaps I’ll try out my garlic theory.

  5. MyDen says:

    I broke up in laughter reading this post! The hilarious image of a group of people, with no inking of what they are doing or where they are going, hot on your heels, just broke me up.Talk about herd instincts!

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