The Harpies Three

So I was sitting in the cafeteria today at work and I saw three women walk by. And I was feeling good, very open and receptive, to I appraised them with all the openness I could. My state was a little altered, perhaps. When I'm receptive I'm very … altered. Let's just go with altered, hm?

The three women were tall and thin. Their age was indeterminate. I figure that they were likely in their later 20s, only a few years older than yours truly, but their skin and hair looked like they were pushing their late 30s and they dressed like they were in their late teens (and in that lets-not-look-too-easy phase to boot). When they spoke, they sounded like arrested 15 year olds. Stuck at that whiny, demanding, entitled and spoiled stage that they probably hit early and will never climb out of.

Their hair was long and had seen one too many die jobs. It was also all straight, though none of it looked naturally straight. The one on the right, by the look of her, wore extensions. She also seemed to be the intelligent one. Paradoxes all around, I suppose. The one in the middle had a face that looked like it produced enough grease to fry something in, a palor somewhere between wax sculpture and sweat. It was gross. I wondered if it was just bad makeup or some truly horrendous skin condition. Like perspiring Pam. Maybe it was the very unnatural tan she had. Gotta put on aloe or somesuch.

The third had the same trim, neat figure as the other three, but was edging towards that too-thin look that's unique to sufferers of concentration camps or eating disorders. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that she hasn't been in a concentration camp. Her purse would likely have been enough to buy her way out of one.

They were all wearing sweaters and jeans and those boots with a high heel and pointy toe that make their legs seem odd and unreal. As I looked at them, I was reminded that I, too, have long hair and a sweater and jeans, though my shoes are mercifully both flat and rounded, and I don't worry so much about my figure. Nor do I have a bad complexion, too much tanning, an eating disorder, an expensive purse, or hair extensions.

I'm also not stupid. When I heard them speak, I was reminded of a conversation I heard over my shoulder earlier today. There were some females talking about a movie (which one I don't know) and going on. One of them, the one that I now recognized as Pamface the Leader, was talking about a movie. Then Ms. Extensions-Wanna-Be mentioned how the book helped explain some aspect, thus proving that she wasn't completely stupid (because I have a bias towards book-readers, even if they only do it for movies they like or something). But then Pamface laughed and said the follow, ignorant and enraging statement:

"Books? Hah. Who reads books? I have way better things to do with my time than bother to read books."

And then, in what proved the crushing blow, Ms. EWB went and said, sheepishly (in every definition of the term), "Yeah, you're right, I guess."

RAGE! INDIGNATION! SELF-RIGHTEOUS FURY!

I don't think I have to explain my position on that. I don't mean to pre-judge, but … if you don't read, you're less of a person. Period. No excuses. I know that's hardline, but I'm okay with playing hardline. I guess I could be willing to be convinced by someone who was blind, or dyslexic, or any number of other things. But someone who says "Books, like, um, books are stupid, y'know?" deserves unending hatred and judgment thrown down upon her. I'm pretty flexible, but people who are willfully ignorant, even if they're in a corporate environment, have used up all their excuses in one gloriously stupid waste of life.

There is NO excuse for willful ignorance. There is NO excuse for that kind of stupid laziness. There is NO excuse for that kind of blind conformity. These are the people who destroy the good parts of humanity and reinforce the bad. Ignorance is no excuse. Ever. Especially when it's self-inflicted.