The Wasatch Behind: the New Year's resolution deserves a revolution
The year 2005 is finally gone, and good riddance. It's always nice to put up a new calendar and make a fresh start. The beginning of a new year is a chance to start over again and get it right the next time.
In the past, I haven't been very good at keeping New Year's resolutions. My resolve lasts about as long as my line of credit at the liquor store. So, this year I've decided to do something different. I'm making New Year's resolutions for other people. It's a novel idea. I call it a resolution revolution. Pay attention, you might be on my list.
First, to the lady who always seems to be in front of me at the checkout line. Please resolve to dig through your purse and find your checkbook and pen before the clerk finishes totaling your groceries. You always look so surprised when it's time to pay. And then you make 17 of us, who are standing in line, watch and wait while you paw through the deep, dark recesses of your forty-pound handbag. I know it's a small thing, but if you would just find your stuff while it's your turn to wait in line, it would sure help my blood pressure.
And then, to the big, healthy young guy who parks his 4x4 right up against the building. Have you ever noticed that when you do that, the little old ladies must park in the middle of the lot and then negotiate through the ice and snow? Chivalry is not dead, in spite of what Beavis and Butthead might have taught you on TV. Sir Walter Raleigh put his coat over a puddle for a lady. The very least you can do is to park out by the snow bank and let grandma have the place up front.
To the young girl who dresses lightly top and bottom with no clothing in the middle. The butterfly tattoo on your derriere is impressive, but I can only see part of it. How about covering it up so I don't have to wonder what the rest of it looks like? Or, since you are proud enough to give strangers a peek, why not just set the butterfly free? You choose.
To the people who don't know, most cars are equipped with a turn indicator. We call it a signal light. A signal light is a safety device. It is also a courtesy to let others know your intentions so they don't have to wait and guess what you intend to do at the intersection.
To the mother who doesn't buckle her kids up in the car. For Pete's sake, take advantage of the child seat law. It's the only time it's legal to tie the little buggers up.
To the people who interrupt public gatherings with the William Tell overture blasting from cell phones. I wish you bunnions on your ears.
To the people who drive with cell phones stuck to their heads. Do us all a favor. Fill out an organ donor card and keep your insurance premiums paid. To the people who are always late for meetings, church, or the start of the picture show, please set your life forward about fifteen minutes. It's like keeping a full tank of gas. It doesn't cost any more to run on full than it does to run on empty. It only takes a little more effort.
And then, to the people who worked Christmas and New Years keeping our streets safe and our lights on. I salute you. How many of us have hugged a cop, a firefighter, a hospital pink lady, or a soldier lately? If not, you had better get with it. It is my firm resolution that we all show more appreciation to the people who sacrifice to serve us. Schoolteachers, utility workers, the highway department, and the garbage man too, deserve our respect and our smiles. Let's smother them with kindness in 2006.
What goes around comes around, Uncle Spud always says.