Home of the Blame
Let's see if I understand the state of personal responsibility in America
If a woman burns her thighs on the hot coffee she was holding in her lap while driving, she blames the restaurant.
If your teen-age son kills himself, you blame the rock 'n' roll musician he liked.
If you smoke three packs a day for 40 years and die of lung cancer your family blames the tobacco company.
If your daughter gets pregnant by the football captain you blame the school for poor sex education.
If your neighbor crashes into a tree while driving home drunk, you blame the bartender.
If your cousin gets AIDS because the needle he used to shoot heroin was dirty, you blame the government for not providing clean ones.
If your grandchildren are brats without manners, you blame television.
And, if your friend is shot by a deranged madman, you blame the gun manufacturer.
God bless America, land of the free, home of the blame.
America: Home of the Blame
America: Home of the Blame
That makes you think . . . . cos we always DO blame someone else other then ourselves! :-3
Mind you . . . . that's usually cos it IS their fault!!! hehehehehe
Mind you . . . . that's usually cos it IS their fault!!! hehehehehe
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Erinna1112
- Posts: 413
- Joined: Tue Jan 04, 2005 1:00 pm
America: Home of the Blame
Take the following into consideration:
The restaurant serving the hot coffee had settled more than 700 burn cases resulting from that coffee in the few years previously to the suit.
The coffee was so hot that it resulted in third-degree burns requiring skin grafts and a week-long hospital stay.
The company - by its own documentation released as evidence in court - was aware of the risk and had no plans to either dial back the temperature or post warnings.
The coffee is consistently held at a temperature of 185 degrees, about twenty degrees hotter (verified by independent testing) than other restaurants. This temperature results in third-degree burns in just five seconds of contact.
The award in the judgement rendered by the jury was equivalent to just two days of coffee sales chain-wide, and - in a move not widely publicized - the appeals judge cut the jury award by more than eighty percent.
I'm not saying that personal responsibility hasn't taken a nosedive in this country, because I agree that it has. But it's important to get all the facts before making snap judgements.
The facts of this case were not aired in an objective manner. McDonalds most definitely put its own spin on it, and successfully so - what do you think when you hear "McDonald's coffee"? Same thing I did at first, most likely - "gee, what a klutz, and why was she surprised that it was hot??" But that wasn't the whole story....and to have a really informed opinion, you need to have the whole story.
The restaurant serving the hot coffee had settled more than 700 burn cases resulting from that coffee in the few years previously to the suit.
The coffee was so hot that it resulted in third-degree burns requiring skin grafts and a week-long hospital stay.
The company - by its own documentation released as evidence in court - was aware of the risk and had no plans to either dial back the temperature or post warnings.
The coffee is consistently held at a temperature of 185 degrees, about twenty degrees hotter (verified by independent testing) than other restaurants. This temperature results in third-degree burns in just five seconds of contact.
The award in the judgement rendered by the jury was equivalent to just two days of coffee sales chain-wide, and - in a move not widely publicized - the appeals judge cut the jury award by more than eighty percent.
I'm not saying that personal responsibility hasn't taken a nosedive in this country, because I agree that it has. But it's important to get all the facts before making snap judgements.
The facts of this case were not aired in an objective manner. McDonalds most definitely put its own spin on it, and successfully so - what do you think when you hear "McDonald's coffee"? Same thing I did at first, most likely - "gee, what a klutz, and why was she surprised that it was hot??" But that wasn't the whole story....and to have a really informed opinion, you need to have the whole story.
Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.
I swear by my life - and my love of it - that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine. ~Ayn Rand
If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention.
A*M*E*N!
I swear by my life - and my love of it - that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine. ~Ayn Rand
If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention.
A*M*E*N!
America: Home of the Blame
I have this funny thing....it's called a conscience. It bugs me sometimes, usually right before or after I do something wrong. Apparently, some other people are lacking this particular personality trait and I find this appalling.
I don't think I was born with it, as I seem to remember doing some rather heinous things as a boy, chopping Mom's counter tops with a butcher knife to see the pretty pattern and relieve my boredom, electrocuting grasshoppers, and other such childish games.
I also seem to remember that I gradually aquired a conscience by suffering consequences for my actions, imposed by two older people I lived with, who called themselves, "My Parents."
My conscience can cost me sometimes...sometimes real money. And since we are talking about personal responsibility, here's an example.
I was walking one day in my apartment complex in Phoenix. I was on my way to the pool, which was just a few yards from my door. I didn't wear shoes that day, since the pool was so close and the sidewalks led literally right to it.
I wasn't paying too much attention to where I was stepping, so I didn't see the rusted piece of metal, part of an expansion joint between two slabs of concrete, that was sticking up like a razor blade in my path.
As I swung my foot across it, it slashed the bottom of my foot open from toes to heel, all the way down to the bone. I gasped in surprise and amazement, and staggered, limped, hopped back to my apartment. If you've never felt the bones of your foot touching concrete, be happy, it isn't pleasant.
I sat in the bathtub, trying to tape the huge wound shut. I was having trouble, since I had lost so much blood that I was a little "tipsy". I called a friend of mine to come over and help me. When he arrived, he turned pale as a ghost at the sight of the bathroom. it probably looked like a psychopath had been slaughtering pigs in it. Blood was everywhere, on the walls, the floor, and the tub had very little white left.
I told him, "Dude, I cut myself, I need you to stich it up, 'cause I can't see what I'm doing!" he took on look, gasled, and said, "You gotta be kidding! I can see the bone. Dude! You gotta go to the hospital for this one!" I replied, "I can't, I don't have any money right now, and my car is busted." (He didn't have a car either.) Then he had an idea, "Hey! I'll go get the landlord, they are probably insured for this kind of thing!" I tried to stop him, thinking it was futile, in my experience, landlords never helped people, only took their money and got mad at them when they painted thier skateoards in the apartment.
The landlord returned, too one look at the wound, (and by this time I was feeling pretty "happy") and told my friend, "Don't worry, we have insurance, i'll drive him to the hospital.)
I thought the hospital would be a good thing, but I forgot something. Therre are as many nerves in yor foot as in your hands, more maybe. The doctors tried everything they could think of to deaden the foot, Lydocaine, Zylocaine, Mytocaine, they even tried spraying Novocaine right into the wound itself. But every time they would ask, "Can you feel that?" My agonized answer was "Yeeessssssssss!" Finally they just gave up torturing me and set to stitching it up.
The wound healed beautifully! Since the slash was razor sharp, the edges were clean and there was barely a scar there within a month.
Then one day.... a man came up to me at the gas station I was managing at the time. I'll never forget the day. I was standing inthe cool morning sunlight, washing down the tarmac, when he walked up, rumpled blue business suit and all. He said, "Do you know where I might find Jon St. Ives?"
To have a little fun with him, as I was wont to do when I was younger, I replied in my best English, " I am the person to whom you refer." His face took on a surprised look, followed quickly by a dejected expression. I instantly understood the situation. He was a legal man. He had been hoping I was an unintelligent, easily duped, blue collar worker.
He recovered quickly, but the cat was already out of the bag. "Mr. Ives, I'm from the insurance company that insures your apartment complex, I've come to discuss the compensation for your accident. Do you have time right now?"
I despise beating around the Bush, especially with people I percieve to have only their own interests at heart and not mine. So I replied, "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? How much money are you offering?" He replied, "What do you think your pain and suffering was worth?" (They must teach these guys never to give an offer first, sheesh! )
I studied his face. He was sweating profusely, getting more and more worried by the second. Apparently, he had figured out by now that he was dealing with a keen intellect, despite the dirty gas station rags that camoflaged it. I said, "The pain was incredilble, and it's possible that I will walk with a limp for the rest of my life." That was a complete lie, the foot felt as good as new already. but to tease him a little, since I saw his brow furrow with even more worry, I said, "I don't think I will require anything as exorbitant as a million dollars, $100,000 dollars, will most likely cover everything."
I had been joking, of course, but I saw something then that shocked and amazed me.....He was actually relieved! I knew in an instant that I could have actually asked for and recieved a million dollars, perhaps even more.
Then it happened...my damn conscience. it started speaking to me. Screaming actually. My foot was fine, to take that kind of money would be a crime, it said. You'll never be able to look yourself in the mirror, it said, Theif! It cried, until I wanted to hold my hands to my ears.
With a bit of wistfulness, I looked the man squarely in the eye. He was already saying something about, "That would be fine with his organization, and would I please just sign this statement, guaranteeing me the money, but forbidding me from trying to get any more later?"
Then I heard my own voice speak, it seemed without my volition, "Mister, I'm not being serious. My foot's fine, it's healed completely, and in my family, we don't take money that we don't earn and don't deserve. My medical bills amount to $2000 dollars, and I'd like an extra $1000 for my pain so I can fix my car and still have enough to through a party for my friends. That's it."
I don't think I've ever seen another human being as incredulous as the Insurance Man. Then or now. His jaw hung open and slack with amazment. he stammered, "Ya, ya, you mena that you don't want $100,000 dollars? You only want $3000?"
"Yes, that's what I want. Just enough to take care of the bills. No more than is fair." He hurriedly filled out the forms, as if he was afraid I might suddenly change my mind, or someone might come along and talk some sense into me. I signed them then and there. He handed me a check for the exact amount I had requested and then turned to leave.
Before he left, though, as he walked away, I saw one more thing..he turned towards me, with a thoughful look, and took one last glance at me in my dirty gas station rags, as I stood there in the morning light, hands on hips. A slow smile spread across his face and something else, a look of respect. As if he had never imagined he would find someone like me, but had after all.
He gave me a slow, respecful little bow and then walked slowly away.
I've thought a lot about that day since then....How would my life have changed had I taken the money? What if I had asked for the whole milion? I sure would have gotten it, but how would I have felt. I feel now, more and more sure as I grow older, that I dodged a bullet that day. That, by being true to myself, I somehow passed a test.
I thing's for sure. When I shave in the morning, I can look myself right in the eye...and smile.
So what do you think about people who file frivolous lawsuits, for example the woman who tried to defraud Wendy's, the burglar who sued the homeowner or the man who sued Winnebago because cruise control didn't keep him on the highway?
We've lost a lot of things to this kind of mentallity. Long-chained swings on the playground, merry-go-rounds, diving boards in hotel pools, jungle gyms.....and much more. Ther was a time when people realized that life was inherently risky, and personal respnsibility was the rule of the day. Can we get that back again? Or is it gone forever?
I don't think I was born with it, as I seem to remember doing some rather heinous things as a boy, chopping Mom's counter tops with a butcher knife to see the pretty pattern and relieve my boredom, electrocuting grasshoppers, and other such childish games.
I also seem to remember that I gradually aquired a conscience by suffering consequences for my actions, imposed by two older people I lived with, who called themselves, "My Parents."
My conscience can cost me sometimes...sometimes real money. And since we are talking about personal responsibility, here's an example.
I was walking one day in my apartment complex in Phoenix. I was on my way to the pool, which was just a few yards from my door. I didn't wear shoes that day, since the pool was so close and the sidewalks led literally right to it.
I wasn't paying too much attention to where I was stepping, so I didn't see the rusted piece of metal, part of an expansion joint between two slabs of concrete, that was sticking up like a razor blade in my path.
As I swung my foot across it, it slashed the bottom of my foot open from toes to heel, all the way down to the bone. I gasped in surprise and amazement, and staggered, limped, hopped back to my apartment. If you've never felt the bones of your foot touching concrete, be happy, it isn't pleasant.
I sat in the bathtub, trying to tape the huge wound shut. I was having trouble, since I had lost so much blood that I was a little "tipsy". I called a friend of mine to come over and help me. When he arrived, he turned pale as a ghost at the sight of the bathroom. it probably looked like a psychopath had been slaughtering pigs in it. Blood was everywhere, on the walls, the floor, and the tub had very little white left.
I told him, "Dude, I cut myself, I need you to stich it up, 'cause I can't see what I'm doing!" he took on look, gasled, and said, "You gotta be kidding! I can see the bone. Dude! You gotta go to the hospital for this one!" I replied, "I can't, I don't have any money right now, and my car is busted." (He didn't have a car either.) Then he had an idea, "Hey! I'll go get the landlord, they are probably insured for this kind of thing!" I tried to stop him, thinking it was futile, in my experience, landlords never helped people, only took their money and got mad at them when they painted thier skateoards in the apartment.
The landlord returned, too one look at the wound, (and by this time I was feeling pretty "happy") and told my friend, "Don't worry, we have insurance, i'll drive him to the hospital.)
I thought the hospital would be a good thing, but I forgot something. Therre are as many nerves in yor foot as in your hands, more maybe. The doctors tried everything they could think of to deaden the foot, Lydocaine, Zylocaine, Mytocaine, they even tried spraying Novocaine right into the wound itself. But every time they would ask, "Can you feel that?" My agonized answer was "Yeeessssssssss!" Finally they just gave up torturing me and set to stitching it up.
The wound healed beautifully! Since the slash was razor sharp, the edges were clean and there was barely a scar there within a month.
Then one day.... a man came up to me at the gas station I was managing at the time. I'll never forget the day. I was standing inthe cool morning sunlight, washing down the tarmac, when he walked up, rumpled blue business suit and all. He said, "Do you know where I might find Jon St. Ives?"
To have a little fun with him, as I was wont to do when I was younger, I replied in my best English, " I am the person to whom you refer." His face took on a surprised look, followed quickly by a dejected expression. I instantly understood the situation. He was a legal man. He had been hoping I was an unintelligent, easily duped, blue collar worker.
He recovered quickly, but the cat was already out of the bag. "Mr. Ives, I'm from the insurance company that insures your apartment complex, I've come to discuss the compensation for your accident. Do you have time right now?"
I despise beating around the Bush, especially with people I percieve to have only their own interests at heart and not mine. So I replied, "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? How much money are you offering?" He replied, "What do you think your pain and suffering was worth?" (They must teach these guys never to give an offer first, sheesh! )
I studied his face. He was sweating profusely, getting more and more worried by the second. Apparently, he had figured out by now that he was dealing with a keen intellect, despite the dirty gas station rags that camoflaged it. I said, "The pain was incredilble, and it's possible that I will walk with a limp for the rest of my life." That was a complete lie, the foot felt as good as new already. but to tease him a little, since I saw his brow furrow with even more worry, I said, "I don't think I will require anything as exorbitant as a million dollars, $100,000 dollars, will most likely cover everything."
I had been joking, of course, but I saw something then that shocked and amazed me.....He was actually relieved! I knew in an instant that I could have actually asked for and recieved a million dollars, perhaps even more.
Then it happened...my damn conscience. it started speaking to me. Screaming actually. My foot was fine, to take that kind of money would be a crime, it said. You'll never be able to look yourself in the mirror, it said, Theif! It cried, until I wanted to hold my hands to my ears.
With a bit of wistfulness, I looked the man squarely in the eye. He was already saying something about, "That would be fine with his organization, and would I please just sign this statement, guaranteeing me the money, but forbidding me from trying to get any more later?"
Then I heard my own voice speak, it seemed without my volition, "Mister, I'm not being serious. My foot's fine, it's healed completely, and in my family, we don't take money that we don't earn and don't deserve. My medical bills amount to $2000 dollars, and I'd like an extra $1000 for my pain so I can fix my car and still have enough to through a party for my friends. That's it."
I don't think I've ever seen another human being as incredulous as the Insurance Man. Then or now. His jaw hung open and slack with amazment. he stammered, "Ya, ya, you mena that you don't want $100,000 dollars? You only want $3000?"
"Yes, that's what I want. Just enough to take care of the bills. No more than is fair." He hurriedly filled out the forms, as if he was afraid I might suddenly change my mind, or someone might come along and talk some sense into me. I signed them then and there. He handed me a check for the exact amount I had requested and then turned to leave.
Before he left, though, as he walked away, I saw one more thing..he turned towards me, with a thoughful look, and took one last glance at me in my dirty gas station rags, as I stood there in the morning light, hands on hips. A slow smile spread across his face and something else, a look of respect. As if he had never imagined he would find someone like me, but had after all.
He gave me a slow, respecful little bow and then walked slowly away.
I've thought a lot about that day since then....How would my life have changed had I taken the money? What if I had asked for the whole milion? I sure would have gotten it, but how would I have felt. I feel now, more and more sure as I grow older, that I dodged a bullet that day. That, by being true to myself, I somehow passed a test.
I thing's for sure. When I shave in the morning, I can look myself right in the eye...and smile.
So what do you think about people who file frivolous lawsuits, for example the woman who tried to defraud Wendy's, the burglar who sued the homeowner or the man who sued Winnebago because cruise control didn't keep him on the highway?
We've lost a lot of things to this kind of mentallity. Long-chained swings on the playground, merry-go-rounds, diving boards in hotel pools, jungle gyms.....and much more. Ther was a time when people realized that life was inherently risky, and personal respnsibility was the rule of the day. Can we get that back again? Or is it gone forever?
All the world's a stage and the men and women merely players...Shakespeare