I used to be an angry young man. Now I’m a slightly less angry mid-thirties man.
In the past I would’ve treated a brutal assault on my personal space as an affront to all I held near and dear. These days, an inattentively rude bump by a passing stranger will start me reflecting on how such callous mental vacancy can be made funny. For me.
In my maturity I prefer my satisfaction a little softer, a bit milder, slightly more painfully embarrassing.
I was thinking that an investment in half a dozen banana cream pies and a small card table would do. These would be transported to an ample sidewalk somewhere in the city. A camera operator somewhere on the opposite side would help to make the golden moments last.
I would then hold one pie aloft, flush with oncoming faces and clearly visible to all but the most inattentive of walking puff pastries. (There’s still a need to work out how to best keep the pie intact here, but I have faith in the innovative power of sweet retribution.)
Then I would simply wait, unmoving, timing how long it takes before somebody plants their puss square in the middle of startling, delicious sobriety. Society benefits, I laugh my ass off, and everyone gets a tasty, instructive treat. Just think of the potential!