If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It

A liberal discovers the true meaning of conservative inertia

I ran errands today. Every step helped to clarify a distinction between conservative and liberal values that has been itching in the corners of my mind: Conservatives like to harvest what they can; they tend to avoid risk and evade personal responsibility for needed change. Liberals like to create and build; they tend to take personal and collective initiative when change is needed.

I live in a conservative rural area and do business in a nearby conservative town. Everywhere I stopped to take care of an errand, I met a situation that needed improvement and people who felt no responsibility for making things better.

My wife, Dianna, and I had decided to cancel our regional newspaper subscription. The circulation representative told her that it was easier if we just let funds, already in our account, run out and so we agreed to accept daily delivery of birdcage liner for another six weeks. Naturally, we were surprised to receive a renewal notice in the mail. I took the invoice into the circulation department. A slightly huffy lady told me not to worry, that I had a stop-date card in the drawer and that’s just the way their computer works. I was irritated but held my tongue. I’m a retired computer systems manager and have strong sensibilities about responsible data management.

Story: Touching Women

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Touching Women

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

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Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

This title seems to get a lot of attention. It's really not as salacious as it might sound. But, have you ever wondered if some men actually have the ability to make a physiologic-psycho-social connection with women, just my touching them? Hum...  

Touching Women

A Fergus Johnson story of gender relations

[Note: Contains some suggestive allusions, mild profanity and, possibly, an ethnic slur. ‘sorry about that.]

“You know, I think that women like to touch me” mused Fergus Johnson. Fergus obviously hadn’t actually intended to speak although this was a men’s support group and everybody was expected to share. It had just kind of slipped out as the sub-vocalization of a personal epiphany. Bobby, who had been revisiting his whine about striking out with women at bars, stopped in mid-sentence and looked puzzled.

Dr. Anderson, always looking for something to add some semblance of newness to the weeks-long rambling bitch session [pun might or might not be intended], urged Fergus: “Go with that.”

Fergus seemed to stare vacantly at the Kewpie doll on one of Dr. Anderson’s shelves across the room. “I’ve just been starting to notice a trend is all.” He paused again, his eyes flickering up and to the right as he searched his memories. “My waitress at breakfast this morning put her fingers on my shoulder several times. And, I’ve started noticing that when I stand talking to a woman, it’s not unusual for them to reach out and briefly put their hand on my arm.”

“That kind of thing happens.” Observed Larry the Letcher, hopefully.

“Yes,” Fergus continued, “but