Moral authority, or moral derogatory?

How a simple act of littering removes what little moral superiority that the police force has.

A policeman walks onto the half-full tube carriage that I currently occupy. He is in his mid-twenties, fairly average looking with light brown hair and eyes to match. He probably has a good looking girlfriend and is popular amongst his colleagues. An apparent emotion of disparagement hides behind the cold exterior the the policeman fronts as he has been seperated from his comrades by the length of half a train carriage. He takes another bite of the apple he has been eating since he walked through the ticket barrier of Oxford Circus station and he continues to chew this bite of his golden delicious while looking off into the distance, staring longingly at his group of peers who aptly ignore him, as if he were a sheep away from the herd, disowned by his fellows and staring oblivion in the face.

He continues to chew his apple as the train departs the station. Leaning nonchalantly on the side of the carriage by the back door, he slithers across the shell as it plumets through the dark, dank tunnel, screaming and hissing as it goes. He slowly, but surely stretches his arm, while giving me the coldest of stares, and rests his left hand, decimated apple in tow, on the open window of the door seperating the carriages. He proceeds to drop the apple into the gaping abyss that seperates the two carriages.

For the remainder of the journey that he and I share together his emotionless expression is instead replaced by a grim smugness that is feintly reminiscent of a child, thrilled that he has got away with his crime. I remained stunned for the next three-or-so stops and upon arrival at Marylebone I turn to leave the carriage and I ask him a question consisting of three simple words: "who's ruling who?"

Stop stereotyping me, or I'm telling.

A voyage through the gates of stereotypicaldom

I am on a bus. All I can here from the back row of seats is the moronic sniggering and jeers from the "teenagers". While I am digging into a classic Raymond Chandler novel of the accounts of Philip Marlow, they are comparing who's mobile phone can tell you the latest goings on in the world of heat magazine. I want to plug my headphones into my iPhone, but part of me is afraid of being mugged, and part of me is afraid of being thrown into the same section of society as these clowns. Granted I'd be listening to Dean Martin, but when the ranks see a sixteen year old with headphones in, one automatically assumes that the sixteen year old is listening to todays latest crap-pop record and lord knows that, although I am an avid listener to most genres of music, I wouldn't be caught dead with the dull roar of a girls aloud record blaring out of my aural receptors.

I eventually get to my stop and take my leave of the bus, thanking the driver on the way, to which I get no response, undoubtbly because he thinks I am hiding a knife in my bag (but there go again my own prejudices). I walk up the empty and quiet residential road taking no notice of the rain, or lack thereof, with my head buried in the encapsulating tale I have in my hands. And as the road is empty, I decide to read aloud. Walking up the hill, not batting an eyelid to the retirees who water their potted plants as I pass by, I continue to read until I come to my front door. At which point I put my book down and proceed to eat a penguin.

Now if this tale to you seems dull, it is probably because it is. I lead a rather ordinary, uninspiring and uninteresting life and my only real output is that I am different from the stereotype of the boisterous, selfish and inconsiderate teenager that the media rams down our throats. Be it from the lowest of the low brow tabloid newspapers, to the supposed unbiased, clean cut reports from the BBC; everyone is desperate to portray teenagers (I suppose those in the 15-21 bracket, but who am I to judge?) as almost a different species and as the enemy. Why? Sure teenagers are of the age of the internet and have different ways, and many need to learn some manners, but they are still people.

I may be sounding at this point as though I am the most pretensious and self absorbed teenager this side of cambridge, but this is only because this stereotype, that I strive to live against, has made it seem audacious for a teenager to use the word audacious, let alone know what it means. Yes, I go to a public school (it's in Croydon, so it's kind of leveled out) and yes I am white and I may be befitting of the stereotype of the pompous white man, but better that than the chavvy, alcoholic teenage father.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that not everyone is like the stereotype that they are supposed to represent, only most people. Now I hope that this doesn't hurt my street cred.