“When a thief meets the Prophet, all he sees are His pockets.” – Sufi saying
If bad habits are hard to break, they’re impossible to forget. That’s why, for example, Alcoholics Anonymous never considers people ‘former’ alcoholics even if they’ve sworn off drink for life; the presumption is that alcohol never releases its grip on one’s life. In an otherwise forgettable film called Tango Assassin, Robert Duval plays an alcoholic assassin who, although he no longer drinks, after a hit dips his fingers into whiskey and dabs it on his face. He might not drink but he has to smell it, be near it, he can not deny the allure of it. It’s a mindset, and it doesn’t change.
It isn’t just Duval’s character, or just alcohol. There are gambling addicts who no longer gamble but can still give you precise odds on games of chance. Just by driving through a neighborhood, a person who used to break into houses can tell at a glance which ones are vulnerable and exactly where; they don’t even have to think about it, they just know.
What do you do with knowledge like that? Well, recovering substance abusers often become substance abuse counselors, recovering gamblers counsel current gamblers. Gambling cheats who get caught hire themselves out to spot other cheats. Former thieves consult in various ways about security, former hackers are hired to try to break into data systems.
And maybe former traffic hellions start blogs about responsible cycling. Even though I’ve been hit six times by cars, and although I think my days of flouting traffic laws and norms are long behind me, I still know exactly how to flout them. I pull up to an intersection and can tell instantly when the timing is right to squirt through the cross-traffic because the oncoming cars, while they don’t have time to pass by at their current speed, do have time to brake enough for me to get across. Right-of-way and room on the road don’t matter, if the other guy can slow down in time to let you do what you want. Just ignore the honking horn. This actually works almost all the time – if you don’t get hit trying it.
Perhaps like other patterns of bad habits, one is never fully ‘cured’ of riding in traffic like a hellion. And just like a reformed alcoholic in a bar or a reformed gambler at the blackjack table, when sitting at a traffic light and watching current hellions blow by again and again, it can be more than a little tempting to join them. Waiting patiently for the light, doing the right thing, can make a person feel like a schnook.
In the next-to-last scene from Goodfellas, mob soldier-turned-snitch Henry Hill has been relocated to a nameless cookie-cutter suburb as part of the Witness Protection Program. He complains about ordering pasta and marinara sauce but getting egg noodles and ketchup. He complains that there’s no action. His reward for a life of crime, for getting caught dealing cocaine and having all his crime buddies turn their backs on him, for turning state’s evidence, is living the rest of his life like a schnook, a sap, a patsy, a sucker. It’s the hardest part of going straight because let’s face it, doing something wrong and getting away with it is a thrill; otherwise, people wouldn’t do it. It feels wonderful to get away with breaking rules, showing everyone that they don’t apply to you. As Renton from Trainspotting said, “We’re stupid, but we’re not that stupid.” It feels great.
Eventually, though, most everyone who breaks the rules stops doing it, even Renton, even Henry Hill. Maybe some begrudging maturity process kicks in, maybe people just get too tired to game the system anymore. Maybe they have kids and realize that breaking rules is really fun but it’s no way to get along in society. Or maybe they get hit enough on their bike that they finally concede that one of these days they’re not going to walk away. Ultimately, breaking the rules is just not sustainable except for the very lucky, skilled, cruel few. For most of us, it just can’t last.
But there’s more of an upside to being a schnook than surrendering to conformity. It’s hard to believe when you’re plugged into the thrill of rule-breaking but there’s actually something comforting about not breaking them, about sitting at a traffic light waiting for it to change, knowing it will change and knowing you’ll then go confidently on your way. A light near my work used to take forever to change; each day as I approached it with the crosswalk sign flashing, the urge to sprint through yellow-then-red was very hard to resist. Depending on how close I was I can’t say I resisted that urge every time, but I can say that both the urge to go and the urge to resist were there every time, duking it out in my head.
Then the other day I noticed that the light was changing much more quickly. Someone down at city traffic control noticed the problem and fixed it. Now there’s no urge to run it; it’ll change in a minute. Now I don’t have to think about it.
Maybe that’s one of the upsides to being a schnook: you have more time to think. It’s like a retirement in a way; your stress level drops, you’re calmer, you’re not looking over your shoulder for the driver you pissed off to come back for revenge, or the motorcycle cop you hadn’t spotted but who witnessed the whole string of laws you just broke. You’re free to look forwards, not backwards. That tax return you filed five years ago?; it’s fine, you did it right, you didn’t cheat. You’re not getting any calls from the IRS.
When you’re not worried that your world might collapse in a few short seconds it’s easier to enjoy, and you’re less tempted to chuck it all over for those briefer thrills. Me? Tonight I’m going to ride home like a schnook and ignore any traffic feats of derring-do that may present themselves. There may be no peaks on the way home, but there won’t be any valleys, either. It may not be possible to say I’m cured but for me, it’s fun enough now just to ride a bike.
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