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Jewish World Review March 22, 2005 / 11 Adar II 5765
Jay D. Homnick
No return, No deposit
http://www.jewishworldreview.com |
Across the fruited plain, a circus of yellow-and-blue blazonry proclaims
this monument of momentous manumission: THE END OF LATE FEES. Not all
Americans are devotees of Blockbuster; some surreptitiously snag their
videos from competing outlets. But the national imagination, the cultural
iconography (and perhaps a touch of iconolatry), has been in the thrall of
Blockbuster for some years. Birthed by the obstreperous Huizenga and
adopted by the ubiquitous Redstone, this chain has enchained some say
enchanted the popular conception of video entertainment for two decades.
If they sign the death certificate on the late fee, you can be sure that the
Hollywood Video lateness mulct can't be milked much longer. Look closely at
the long placid stream of the Public Library overdue fee and even there you
will see a seiche, hear a susurrus; times they are a' changin'.
No longer the midnight ride under a pall of reverence, the midday screech
of anguished tires. Gone is the daredevil dash with one eye on the dashed
road and the other on the dashboard clock; gone, too, the dashing of hope of
12:01. Never again the tortured conscience of watching the rewind machine
languidly do its thing at 11:51, and the awful temptation to stop at the
halfway mark to race out the door. Forgotten is the role of the clerk as
cleric, looking sagely at the second handle with solonic solemnity, holding
in his underpaid hands the key to your mortal fate. Now you can stride up
to the counter at 12:09 of the next day, flash your smuggest smirk, plop
down your movie and swagger on out: they can't lay a hand on ya. No more
Midnight Cowboy. It's High Noon and you're Gary Cooper, baby.
Whoa, what's this? Trust your conscience to show up at the most
inopportune times. Can't leave well enough alone. It turns out, thinking
on it a tad, that you liked it better the old way. Who'd 'a thunk it?
The fact is that consequences, when delivered with some immediacy, are a
component of civilization that comfort even as they collect (or connect).
When you pay that traffic ticket, you buy absolution. All the cumulative
guilt of endangering the citizenry with your recklessness has been
whitewashed with a faint splash of green. Take your licks, pay the piper,
do your time, then you're clean. You have paid your debt to society and
your scars are your receipt. You've been purged and cleansed and mitigated
and expiated. The books are closed up tight.
You know the joke about the new guy who shows up at the pool in the Miami
development, and a lady asks him why she hasn't seen him before. He says,
"I just got out of prison after twenty years."
"Really, what did you do?"
"I killed my wife with an axe."
"Oh, so you're single."
That's you, a new man with a fresh start. Sure, you kept The Longest Day a
day long; you held Another Twenty-four Hours. Well, another twenty-four
hours. But you got off your high horse and ponied up for Seabiscuit, and
you can get right back on track with your head held high.
Perhaps that is what King David meant in Psalm XXIII when he said, "Your
rod and your staff they comfort me". And maybe that was what the nuns had
in mind when they used a ruler to rap your knuckles. They were trying to
teach you that a measured punishment is a desert to clean your palate and
your slate.
The tough ones are the unpunished kind. The cases that you tuck away in
the 'Open' file. An inner voice says that you did wrong and the bill has
not been paid. You walk through life with a sense of unfinished business,
of inadequacy, of being less than all you can be. If you fear a Hell or a
karma there may be a sense of looming fate that haunts your every step
forward; even if not, there is the irresolution of unresolvedness. Even
those billionaires who marry some zero in Las Vegas and later have to give
her seven zeroes to unburden themselves look relieved, almost happy, when
it's finally over. At least they have I know you hate this word
closure.
The video store still sets a due date. But it has no teeth. No
enforcement mechanism other than annoying reminder calls. No aftereffects
if you abuse your privilege. You can sit in your Lazy Boy and toy with your
drink on the lazy Susan while the clock tolls midnight. No one will be the
wiser or your wallet the lighter. Ah, but you. You will be a lesser
person.
So if Lola wants to loll around and take advantage, that's her business.
But I know what you will be doing. You will make doubly sure now to honor
that return date, and that's why you're my hero. Only, please: no more
busting down the block at eighty miles per hour.
03/15/05: The name of the game
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