On Empathy
You’ve got this friend, see, who gets car sick. But you don’t, and so lacking any grounding for empathy, you motor like you’re competing on So You Think You’re a Stunt Driver, and said friend gets tastes lunch again. Your friend remains your friend despite the fact that you’re an asshat, and this inspires you, finally, to commiserate, to understand. How can you achieve this, though?
Glad you asked. I’ve done a little research, and while my endolymphatic fluid resists sloshing most of the time, there is a way.
- Grab a book. You’ll want small print for greatest efficacy.
- Find a bus with what amounts to C4 or some other military-grade explosive instead of conventional shock absorbers. A long route over poorly maintained streets, and an obviously itchy driver, make this exercise much easier.
- Seat yourself inward-facing, so that as the bus speeds up or slows down, you sway to your side.
- Begin reading.
Approximately ten minutes into your ride, after the wheelwells have exploded in pyrotechnic thunder with each of several dips into potholes, your concentration will have deteriorated into a nauseous haze, and you will finally understand why your friend won’t ride shotgun with you anymore.
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