November 7: Too Many People, Being Anti-Social, Misanthropic Fairy Tale

All in all, the Zuckermans' pigpen was the center of attention.  Fern was happy, for she felt that Charlotte's trick was working and that Wilbur's life would be saved.  But she found that the barn was not nearly as pleasant--too many people.  She liked it better when she could be all alone with her friends and animals.

Fern doesn't care for the throngs of gawkers that show up at her Uncle Homer's barn to see Charlotte's miracle.  They're too loud and disruptive.  Most large groups of people tend to be unruly, destructive even.  It comes with the territory.  They trample things, litter, pollute their surroundings.  Not out of spite or malice.  They do it because human beings are generally selfish creatures.

If I sound a little anti-social, it's because I've had a difficult day at work.  The patients were demanding and rude.  I was tired and cranky.  When one gentleman refused to sign any of the consent forms, I smiled and said, "That's fine.  I'll make a note that you didn't want to sign.  You may receive a bill for the entire cost of this appointment because the insurance cannot be billed without your written permission.  Please have a seat."  The gentleman signed his forms.

By Friday of most weeks, I am done being social and nice.  I go into full misanthrope mode.  As Greta Garbo said, "I vant to be alone."  I usually hole up in my living room, put on a Woody Allen movie, and forget the world exists for a couple of days.  At the moment, a snow storm is raging outside my door.  Midnight in Paris is on my TV, and I'm about to eat a frozen pizza.  If Jesus Christ came knocking on my front door right now, I'd probably turn off the lights and pretend to be asleep or out of the country.

Once upon a time, a misanthrope named Gil lived alone in a hut on a cliff overlooking a raging sea.  Gil never received visitors, and he liked it that way.  He didn't even like the crows that roosted on his roof.  He would stand outside and throw rocks at them.

One day, Gil threw a rock at an exceptionally large crow, hitting it squarely in the beak and knocking it to the ground.  The crow hopped to its feet, shook its feathers, and magically transformed into an old wizard.

The wizard glared at Gil.  "You are a miserable, mean old man.  No better than a bitter turnip.  And that's how you'll live the rest of your days."

The wizard waved his magic wand and transformed Gil into a turnip.

Gil lived the rest of his life happily rooted in the soil, until a wild hog came by one afternoon, dug him up, and ate him.

Moral of the story:  wizards hate turnips.

And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.

People suck...sometimes