There are just two things in this world I can’t stand: intolerance and the left handed. I just know they’re out there; living their left-handed lives, oblivious to the simmering contempt in which I hold them. It fairly sends a chill down my spine to think that I may well pass these mutants on the street without so much as realizing it. Sometimes I secretly suspect that they’re planning to gang up on me, to give me the beating of my life, albeit using the wrong hand.
There are just two things in this world I can’t stand: intolerance and the left handed. I just know they’re out there; living their left-handed lives, oblivious to the simmering contempt in which I hold them. It fairly sends a chill down my spine to think that I may well pass these mutants on the street without so much as realizing it. Sometimes I secretly suspect that they’re planning to gang up on me, to give me the beating of my life, albeit using the wrong hand.
Before you south-pawed freaks of nature defy the natural order and use that tragically over-developed left hand to compose a stern letter of complaint, let me assure you that I suspect my bigotry would melt as surely as sugar in rain if I actually knew a few lefties. Besides, I don’t really hate left-handed people. I just feel a little sorry for them. After all, who wants to go through life unable to use a right-handed can opener? Or regular scissors?
I’ll admit that I’ve kept this thought to myself until now and, quite frankly, it feels kind of good to get it off my chest. No doubt my views will come as something of a shock to well-meaning leftoids who were previously oblivious to the bitter resentment that percolates daily beneath my skin. But I know all too well that there’s nothing so bad as learning that you’re the target of denigration. For years I have been left to live a life that is free of vilification. I have offended no one. If I have been noticed by others at all, it is only for the purpose of being ignored. Suddenly, all that has now changed and I find, unexpectedly, that I too am a figure of hate.
There’s no easy way to put this – I am a man and I own several blue ties. At the time, I had no inkling of the depth of offence I was causing to others. Like a blue rag to a bull, I have been unwittingly taunting people in what can only be described as a vulgar display of unbridled machismo. Forget unruly moustaches or a chest-carpet thick and lustrous enough to create dreadlocks – testosterone these days is a lot less hairy and a good deal more neat casual.
No one was more surprised than I to hear our Prime Minister speak about her loathing of men in blue ties. Personally, I find it a little underwhelming. As far as a dystopian vision of the future goes, it strikes me as something that still needs a little work. Imagine if George Orwell’s 1984 had presented his vision of a world dominated not by Big Brother and members of ‘the Party’ but of men in blue ties? He’d be almost certainly out of print by now. But since that speech, I’ve given a lot of thought to this hitherto undeclared hostility and, suddenly, in a blinding flash, I came to a realization after which a strange sense of calm descended up me. The penny dropped, rolled into the storm water drain and would never be seen again. ‘This,’ I thought to myself, ‘Explains everything.’
For some time now, I have felt people looking at me with contempt. At first, I thought they simply disagreed with my decision to sing along to my I-pod whilst on public transport. It now occurs to me that they were merely reacting to the instrument of oppression that I was dangling right in front of their faces. I could, of course, blame others for their intolerance but that would be the easy way out. No sir. The appropriate thing to do here is to hold a mirror up to myself, remove my tie and question my motivations for wearing the cursed thing in the first place. It’s no accident that I wore a blue tie. Rather, it was clearly an act of aggression that cannot be allowed to stand unchallenged.
I should know better. As a kid, I was regarded as being a little different because I took piano lessons. In Tyabb and in the 1970s, this kind of flamboyance was a direct challenge to societal norms. Other kids made their feelings known, sneering and teasing me on a regular basis. I don’t know why they resented me so much. Perhaps they were jealous or had their own musical ambitions thwarted. Or maybe they were left handed and simply angry at the world at large. Who knows? The point is, it confused me then as surely as it puzzles me still.
I guess that’s how I felt about the whole blue tie fiasco. For an instant, I felt surprised at having (possibly) done the wrong thing, at least according to somebody else. It was never my intention. The part of me that’s eager to please is more than willing to make the switch to bow ties or even that strange stringy thing so beloved by Texan businessmen. Chances are, though, that someone would find something else to which they object. Prejudice is a bit like that. It’s petty, illogical and owes everything to fear rather than rationality. Enough is enough.
Perhaps we all have our biases; our ingrained prejudices that bubble surface when we’re not looking. Maybe we can all do a little better. This week, I will avoid wearing a blue tie. It’s not really about shunning a type of neckwear, more a sign that I am more than willing to back off if you are. Others should try and be a little nicer. Even if we have to shut the Internet for a couple of weeks, it’s a small price to pay. As for the left-handed, try doing things normally this week and see how you like it.