Uniforms
I don't know how my mirror got messed up. I DO know I cannot drive without the side view mirror, and it was pushed in such a way that even when I tried to adjust it with the buttons on the dashboard, I could not use it. Maybe it got jammed in the Kroger parking lot.
I exercised again this morning and could hardly move. I have arthritis and I am really out of shape- meaning I have not been exercising. What does that have to do with my mirror? Well, I could not get out of the car, jump back in, check it, jump back out, change it, etc. I needed help.
I'm driving down the street searching for some one I can ask for help to push back my mirror, and let me stay in my seat to check if it is right. How can I judge whether or not the person I ask will help me or will brush me off?
In my mind, Doctors wear neat white coats, and deserve respect. They are "neat and clean". They are educated, and often they act that way. Sometimes they are not caring, but they are knowledgeable.
On the other hand, when I have to follow a group of kids, poking down the middle of the street, hats askew, pants dragging, and waving me the "bird", I have little respect.
Clothes effect our thinking about a person or group of people. When we go to the Renaissance Faire, and watch those dressed in garments from ages ago, we wonder about them. Their clothes determine their social and economic standing, as well as their behavior and morals. I was surprised when Jason chose to wear a blouse and plaid kilt to the Renaissance Faire, but he looks quite manly and handsome. I actually think the kilt is more handsome and appealing that the underwear showing because pants are too loose and falling down. Maybe attitude also has something to do with it?
It is as if the groups to which we belong also conform to a sort of uniform attire. That attire gives off its own message of respect or disrespect. Hard not to read something into that "language of attire" at all times. Clothes don't really "make the man", but they also can make it hard to "Change that First Impression!"
We just heard that Jonny Gomes has been traded. "I wouldn't like that at all!" quips Weslee. "Playing with different players on a new team, different uniforms, in a new city! He was my favorite Red's player, and now he has to move!" And I add, "It might be really hard for his family, too. new schools, new neighborhood, new friends. It seems so sudden!" Weslee and I agree that it would be hard to accept that quick change in your life.
I'm driving down the street and spot a young man- note all men seem to appear "young" to me these days- I see- a chunky sort of tall man, plaid long shorts that fall below the knee, an overlong shirt, gold chains, a baseball type cap, his face with a sort of goatee, walking casually. I can't decide if I can ask this person, or if this is the person who would not be helpful. I slow down. I roll down the window.
"Sir, Could you help me?" He turns around and looks behind him, as if I am surely speaking to some one else.
""My mirror is pushed backwards, and I cannot see out of it. Could you just push it forward a little for me, PLEASE?"
In a very soft and polite voice, he answers, "Certainly." He reaches over to my mirror at the passenger side, gently moves it forward, and the entire mirror falls into his hand. It is now totally hanging from the mirror frame, wires trailing.
"Oh dear!", I say, "I guess it must have been more than an adjustment problem! I did not know it was totally broken."
Without a word this young man began to check behind the wires, looked into the back of the mirror and worked the mirror back onto the frame. I heard a quiet click, and the mirror was again attached to the frame on the door. I thanked him profusely, as he smiled and walked away without a word or another thought to what had just happened.
This interchange took all of two minutes, but I have not been able to get this out of my mind. I think we judge people by their clothes, and cannot think of them easily otherwise. This kindness sent rays of sunshine in my day, so that I will not forget for a while, what that young man did. But I continue to consider what a person wears to help me figure out what "team" they are on.
I exercised again this morning and could hardly move. I have arthritis and I am really out of shape- meaning I have not been exercising. What does that have to do with my mirror? Well, I could not get out of the car, jump back in, check it, jump back out, change it, etc. I needed help.
I'm driving down the street searching for some one I can ask for help to push back my mirror, and let me stay in my seat to check if it is right. How can I judge whether or not the person I ask will help me or will brush me off?
In my mind, Doctors wear neat white coats, and deserve respect. They are "neat and clean". They are educated, and often they act that way. Sometimes they are not caring, but they are knowledgeable.
On the other hand, when I have to follow a group of kids, poking down the middle of the street, hats askew, pants dragging, and waving me the "bird", I have little respect.
Clothes effect our thinking about a person or group of people. When we go to the Renaissance Faire, and watch those dressed in garments from ages ago, we wonder about them. Their clothes determine their social and economic standing, as well as their behavior and morals. I was surprised when Jason chose to wear a blouse and plaid kilt to the Renaissance Faire, but he looks quite manly and handsome. I actually think the kilt is more handsome and appealing that the underwear showing because pants are too loose and falling down. Maybe attitude also has something to do with it?
It is as if the groups to which we belong also conform to a sort of uniform attire. That attire gives off its own message of respect or disrespect. Hard not to read something into that "language of attire" at all times. Clothes don't really "make the man", but they also can make it hard to "Change that First Impression!"
We just heard that Jonny Gomes has been traded. "I wouldn't like that at all!" quips Weslee. "Playing with different players on a new team, different uniforms, in a new city! He was my favorite Red's player, and now he has to move!" And I add, "It might be really hard for his family, too. new schools, new neighborhood, new friends. It seems so sudden!" Weslee and I agree that it would be hard to accept that quick change in your life.
I'm driving down the street and spot a young man- note all men seem to appear "young" to me these days- I see- a chunky sort of tall man, plaid long shorts that fall below the knee, an overlong shirt, gold chains, a baseball type cap, his face with a sort of goatee, walking casually. I can't decide if I can ask this person, or if this is the person who would not be helpful. I slow down. I roll down the window.
"Sir, Could you help me?" He turns around and looks behind him, as if I am surely speaking to some one else.
""My mirror is pushed backwards, and I cannot see out of it. Could you just push it forward a little for me, PLEASE?"
In a very soft and polite voice, he answers, "Certainly." He reaches over to my mirror at the passenger side, gently moves it forward, and the entire mirror falls into his hand. It is now totally hanging from the mirror frame, wires trailing.
"Oh dear!", I say, "I guess it must have been more than an adjustment problem! I did not know it was totally broken."
Without a word this young man began to check behind the wires, looked into the back of the mirror and worked the mirror back onto the frame. I heard a quiet click, and the mirror was again attached to the frame on the door. I thanked him profusely, as he smiled and walked away without a word or another thought to what had just happened.
This interchange took all of two minutes, but I have not been able to get this out of my mind. I think we judge people by their clothes, and cannot think of them easily otherwise. This kindness sent rays of sunshine in my day, so that I will not forget for a while, what that young man did. But I continue to consider what a person wears to help me figure out what "team" they are on.
Comments
Post a Comment