May 13, 2010
I am not a Harry Potter fan. There, I said it.
However, one thing I absolutely love about Harry Potter is the Sorting Hat. I so totally want a sorting hat of my very own.
I’m going to ramble a bit here about sorting, which is really what we’re all up to every day, every minute of our lives anyway, right? When we want lunch, we sort the options. And not just by yumminess, but by proximity, by price, by what preferred lunch partners are willing to eat, all that and more.
We sort friends, we sort clothes, we sort everything. Constantly.
And, as I mentioned to Brad the other day, there is nothing worse than being on a large group ride with someone (or someones) who doesn’t know how to sort himself (or herself).
Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic. I’m sure there are one or two things that are worse than someone who doesn’t know how to sort him or herself. Like Kimchi. Ayn Rand. Those are worse. And maybe Pistachio Ice Cream. (I like Pistachios. I like Ice Cream. I don’t want them together. I mean, I also like steak and gelato. But I don’t want them mixed into a paste, right?)
Anyway, sure, there ARE a couple things worse.
But still. Not knowing how to self-sort is egregious. Painful. It’s a lack of self-awareness akin to the lack of awareness people who bring super-crinkly candy to the symphony have. Or movie-baby-bringers. (Shut up, that could be a word.)
And, on a group ride, just for example, sorting should be constant, up and down. If someone is riding your ass, you find a spot, and you slide over to let them by. If the faster rider declines, then you have a free pass to hold them up. If they slip by you, you have officially, and graciously sorted yourself.
Of course, same thing applies to the downhill–if someone is riding your ass, it’s not because they are staring at it. Okay, it’s almost never because they are staring at it. Probably. And let me be clear here, I am not talking to you. Don’t ask me if I’m talking to you, or if I think you’re the one who can’t sort himself (or herself). I’m just rambling about sorting. Hypothetically. If anything, I’m talking to myself here.
Knowing the art of the self-sort is the sort of thing many will never ever master. Or even, in fact, ever know it exists.
It’s like the shame rule–if you do something stupid, always, ALWAYS make fun of yourself first. Beat them to the punch. Because the ridicule IS coming, you know it is. All you can do is lesson the blow, use your best Judo techniques, and make it a glancing blow instead of a full body shot.
Because the world is a savage garden, isn’t it? That is, if you don’t self sort, sorting will be provided for you. Like a public defender, except not.