Been spendin' most our lives livin' in the gangsta's paradise."
I remember hearing Coolio croon these profound lines as an 8-year-old in the preview for "Dangerous Minds." This fine little clip contained scenes from a movie I was not permitted to watch, along with snippets of a song I wasn't allowed to listen to. Ah, how much mass media contributed to my delinquency, despite my mother's best censorship efforts.
What stood out to me the most as a young child with many irrational fears (the Chuck E. Cheese man, the black Ts at the bottom of pools) was the senseless crime committed during this commercial. A thugged-out teenager slung something heavy at the rearview mirror of a car on the street, causing it to shatter into a million pieces on the inner-city asphalt. I gaped at this context-less action. Why would someone do something like that?
For many peaceful years of my life, I lived shattered-glass free. I avoided neighborhood baseball games and abandoned homes just the same. But lately, I can't seem to get away from broken glass. Especially when I live in Charlottesville, Va., at 1010 Frat Street.
Parking your car on my street is like playing minesweeper. You can try to tell me all you want that there is some kind of logic to Minesweeper, but I know those little flags and numbers were just a ploy to lead bored receptionists to believe Minesweeper wasn't just created to satisfy the male urge to blow stuff up in a tiny way. If you park your car in my neighborhood (which, if you looked at the rent, is by no means a ghetto) chances are eventually, the little smiley face will turn sad and get his eyes X-ed out.
Why does this happen? Why do we open the door to our car only to realize our window is in shards and what once was our mirror is now a mangled dangling disco ball? In one of the nicest suburbs in Virginia, we most certainly aren't spendin' our lives in gangsta's paradise.
Maybe the reason U.Va. students show such disregard for each other's cars is because they all know deep down, if someone broke their mirror off, mom and dad would buy them a new one in a second. It is the same sheer ignorance of the value of the dollar that equates to our student body forking out insane amounts of money for fake IDs and drunkenly lost cell phones. We are irresponsible because, hey, we can afford to be.
I've never actually seen a mirror being broken off, but I can imagine the act could follow one of three general patterns.
1. Two drunk guys get into an argument while walking back from one of Charlottesville's many high-class bars. One screams something very insulting at the other, and the insulted one wants to break the other's face. He breaks your rearview mirror instead.
2. A large group of drunk students are coming back from a frat party. While trying to walk in a line five students wide on a sidewalk that doesn't even allow enough room for one student, someone loses his or her balance and grabs onto your poor mirror for dear life. The mirror takes one for the team.
3. A careless Comm School kid, late for a big-wig internship interview, swings his leather briefcase while he scurries along briskly. He knocks into your mirror and doesn't look back (ever wondered why they call it a stock broker?).
They say you can never really analyze a group of people until you hold a mirror up to it. Well, when you hold a mirror up to wealthy Charlottesville, it breaks. What does that mean?
Marissa's column runs biweekly Wednesdays. She can be reached at dorazio@cavalierdaily.com.
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