Notes on Stupidity

It’s not about race. It’s not as simple-minded and ignorant as that. It is about stupidity, but not just simple-minded stupidity. It’s about the kind of stupidity that seeps into everything and ruins anything that is good. Stupid is stupid, if it’s a group or just one guy, no matter what flavor it comes in. You can call it racial, but that just means you don’t know what it is.
So, what is “it”? I asked that question once while working in a library and Oliver answered me.
“It’s about a person giving up hope and defining himself by the size of the wheels on his car.” Oliver put some books on the shelf and lined up the bindings. “When you don’t believe that your life will be that long, wheels on a car have to do. They’re quick, and it makes you look good.”
“So lack of hope is stupidity?”
I knew what he was talking about, but I couldn’t see what hope and stupidity had to do with each other. Oliver was a smart guy, and he looked smart. The black-rimmed Malcolm-X glasses gave him a sort of intellectual look. It seemed contrived, but not stupid. I tried to think about what he said, but like I said before: stupid is stupid, if it’s a group or a guy. Now, I just had to add even if there is no hope.
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Sometimes when I walk around the city I think how easy it would be just to follow someone, and… But then sometimes I walk around and the beauty of all the chaos just swallows me up. I enjoy the bricks, the buses, the noise, and the smell of coffee and gasoline. Cities are an oxymoron: they are both the epitome of human capacity and human decay. Stupidity is easy to find in cities.
“Hey man,” the mangy looking beggar started towards me with a practiced smile on his lips. I don’t like ignoring stupidity. “Hey…I need some…” he started.
“I’m not giving you any money.”
It was my pat answer to everyone that asked for money. I didn’t give money to any one because in Dallas I made the mistake of giving money to a man that came up to me while I was parked in front of a porn store. His style was more direct.
“You got a dollar?” he asked. I reached into my pocket and got a dollar that was left over from my visit. The window of my car was cracked about seven or eight inches. I gave him a dollar just about the time I noticed the look in his eye.
“You got more!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Give me some more!” His hand tried to reach into the car. That was stupid. I rolled my window up on his wrist.