Blank looks and square heads

By DAVID J. COEHRS

Expositor Columnist

"What's Wal-Mart? Do they sell, like, wall stuff?" - Paris Hilton

Back on Valentine's Day, my beloved and I sat in a fast food place that, just for the occasion, offered customers white tablecloths, candlelight, fresh flowers, special dessert service and a high school glee club crooning love songs. She and I were crammed at a small table for two, enjoying the kitsch, our drippy soft-serve ice cream sundaes and the standing-room-only crowd when total cluelessness suddenly took control.

"Hello!" a woman at a table abutting ours yelled into her cell phone. "WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

The high-schoolers in their matching red glee club shirts were harmonizing to a beautiful ballad. If only I could have heard it.

"WHA-A-T? I CAN'T HEAR YOU BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE SINGING!"

The woman was screaming so loudly into the phone I could see blood vessels popping in her cheeks like fireworks. The sight jolted a couple nearby, who splattered each other with hot fudge.

"I SAID I CAN'T HEAR YOU BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE SINGING! NO, NOT SINKING! SING-ING!"

The glee clubbers valiantly carried on, but by this time their competition was winning.

"WHO CAME OVER TO YOUR HOUSE? WHO? YOU'RE KIDDING!"

Every couple within earshot exchanged a look that needs no explanation, then threw her the same expression, hoping she'd notice.

"WHAT'S SHE DOING, COMING OVER TO YOUR HOUSE? WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU BECAUSE I'M AT THIS VALENTINE'S THING AND THESE PEOPLE WON'T STOP SINGING! WELL, THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO BE SINGING, BUT THEY JUST KEEP GOING! YEAH, I'M SITTING HERE WITH BEV! WHAT? WELL, I CAN'T HEAR THEM BECAUSE I'M TALKING TO YOU! NOW, WHAT'S HER DEAL, COMING OVER TO YOUR HOUSE?"

It's called cluelessness. Way too many people suffer from it. And I always seem to be in the vicinity of every one of them.

Take a ribbon-cutting ceremony I attended. A young woman stretched the wide red ribbon across the entrance to a new business. As she waited for the festivities to begin, two people suddenly rushed onto the scene. They skidded to a stop in front of her and the gathering crowd.

"Is there a bathroom in there?" they asked, pointing to the entrance.

The young woman was struck speechless but you could read her mind: Do you even realize you're interrupting a ribbon-cutting? Are you out of your gourds?

"Are we allowed to use the bathroom in there?" they persisted, oblivious to their surroundings. Looking stunned, the woman dropped the ribbon and allowed them to enter. They never did exit. They're probably still looking for a way out.

Cluelessness, plain and simple. And the amount floating around is staggering.

Or should I say, driving around. Why am I the one who always manages to get stuck behind clueless people operating motor vehicles? You know who I'm talking about. They brake at green lights, plod along fifteen miles per hour below the speed limit for no apparent reason and have never figured out that a bent arrow in a middle traffic lane means you're supposed to turn from there, not from the lane next to it. When clueless drivers do something totally stupid that inconveniences you and makes you want to empty a gun clip into their gas tank, and then you finally manage to pass them, they invariably have that blank Clueless Person look on their faces. That, and - believe me, I used to think this was just my imagination, but now I'm not so sure - large, square heads.

Okay, maybe I haven't had enough caffeine, or the current lunar phase is ratcheting up my crankiness. Or maybe I'm being a little too mean-spirited. Maybe I need to have more tolerance, more compassion and more understanding. Or just maybe members of the clueless population should be rounded up, transported to and dropped like potato sacks on the Moon. I'm sure they'll eventually figure out they didn't really take a one-way high-tech bus tour, like they were told.

At least, I'm pretty sure. The next time I'm listening to a concert, why don't you call me on my cell phone so we can discuss it. Loudly.