Don't Take Me Seriously - Book - Page 219
Voyeurism and the high-speed chase
M
y friends, nothing stops
office production like
television coverage of a
high speed police chase— as presented from the news helicopter
following the fugitive’s car. People gather around the TV set in
fascination because, even though
such chases don’t always end in
horrific crashes, this is the closest thing we voyeurs can find to
“watching a train wreck” in progress.
And though, of course, no one
wants anyone to get hurt … we
are all very disappointed if the
guy gives up quietly.
I mean, he has driven 50 miles
on the freeway, at 120 mph, weaving erratically and hanging on the
edge of doom — and then he pulls
over and meekly lies down in the
street?
Why bother running in the first
place?
Now, I understand that when a
police spike strip flattens a guy’s
tires, he realizes his run is pretty much over. But at least he could
have the decency to ride those
Jim
WALKER
DON’T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY
sparking rims until they burst into
flames.
We viewers deserve some reward for the valuable time we’ve
wasted staring at the TV. Similarly, when fugitives’ cars run out
of gas, the real pros jump out of
their cars while they are still rolling, leap awkwardly over fences
or railings, and then limp into the
bushes, where police dogs drag
them down by their butts.
Watching this kind of broad
comedy adds chuckles to many
thousands of otherwise dull lives.
It should be clear that these fools
don’t have well-thought-out expectations for coming events
when they decide to run.
Instead, they most likely start
with panic, followed by a series of
insights into their own stupidity –
with their resultant actions dependent on the level of chemicals in
their blood and their prior criminal records.
Meanwhile, we voyeurs have
our own reactions to a fugitive’s
choices. Let’s take a look at both
of these.
Event: Police lights appear in
the mirror. Potential fugitive: He
hopes they are after someone else.
We viewers: We aren’t there,
yet. (But we have been and have
hoped the same thing.)
Event: The police are clearly after our potential fugitive and not
someone else. Potential fugitive:
He has had a few beers, is driving
on a suspended license and is late
for preschool pickup —so running seems to be an attractive option, and he puts the pedal to the
metal.
We viewers: Well, we get there
when the news chopper does, but
let’s say that begins here. Someone in the office hears about
the high speed chase and turns
the television on. The rest of us
are drawn to the action on the
screen like zombies to fresh flesh.
“Wow, that guy is flying!” “He’s
going to kill someone!” “What is
he driving — a minivan?!”
Event: There are slower drivers
blocking all freeway lanes. Fugitive: Is running on alcohol and
adrenaline and thinks he’s invincible (and has a better car). He
weaves between the other cars
and then decides to drive on the
freeway shoulder to roar past
them.
We viewers: “Where does he
think he’s going?” “He’s never going to get away.” “Aw, come on.
Someone box him in. Don’t let
him get by.”
Event: The freeway shoulder
narrows and there is nowhere to
go, as all lanes of traffic slow. Fugitive: He can’t stop now. He’s almost to his daughter’s preschool.
He takes the off-ramp far too fast,
clipping cars as he slides onto the
surface street. We viewers: “He’s
going to kill someone!” “Watch
out people! Get out of the way!”
“Oh boy, here comes a big truck!
Hope it crushes him.”
Event: The fugitive runs a
red light and the semi clips him,
knocking off a wheel and spinning him onto the sidewalk. No
one is hurt, but the minivan is out
of commission.
Fugitive: He figures he can
leave his car, registered in his
name, right where it is, and no
one will be the wiser. He slides
out among other pedestrians, only
recognizable because of his bright
purple Laker’s jersey, baggy yellow shorts and knee-high white
socks — and slides on down the
block, intending to pick up his
daughter on time so the wife will
be happy. He figures he’ll deal
with the rest later.
“What a moron!”
Then, we realize watching this
farce has made us all late for our
commutes — and we race out of
the parking lot, maybe to start the
process all over again.
Comment at jwalker@the-signal.com or at http://Twitter.com/
DontSeriously.
