It isn't just they who have given up trying to rectify irrational vexations. It is the American people everywhere. A few weeks ago at a large movie theatre I turned to my wife and said, "The picture is out of make a complaint essay focus." "Be quiet she answered.But a few minutes later I raised the point again, with mounting impatience. "It will be all right in a minute she said apprehensively. (She would rather lose her eyesight than be around when I make one of my infrequent scenes.) I waited. It was just out of focus - not glaringly out, but out.My vision is 20-20, and I assume that is the vision, adjusted, of most people in the movie house. So, after hectoring my wife throughout the first reel, I finally prevailed upon her to admit that it was off, and very annoying.We then settled down, coming to rest on the presumption that: a) someone connected with the management of the theatre must soon notice the blur and make the correction; or b) that someone seated near the rear of the house would make the complaint. What happened was nothing. The movie ended, as it had begun just out of focus, and we trooped out, we stretched our faces in a variety of contortions to accustom the eye to the shock of normal focus.
No one addressed a word to him. He approached my write an essay on natural disasters seat, and write an essay my school I drew a deep breath of resolution. "conductor I began with a considerable edge to my voice. Instantly the doleful eyes of my seatmate turned tiredly from his newspaper to fix me with a resentful stare: what question could be so important as to justify my sibilant intrusion into his stupor?I was shaken by those eyes. I am incapable of making a discreet fuss, so I mumbled a question about what time we were due in Stamford (I didn't even ask whether it would be before or after dehydration could be expected to set in got my reply, and went back. The conductor had nonchalantly walked down the gauntlet of eighty sweating American freemen, and not one of them had asked him to explain why the passengers in that car had been consigned to suffer.There is nothing to be done when the temperature outdoors is 85 degrees, and indoors the air conditioner has broken down; obviously when that happens there is nothing to do, except perhaps curse the day that one was born. But when the temperature outdoors is below freezing, it takes a positive act of will on somebody's part to set the temperature indoors.Somewhere a valve was turned too far, a furnace overstocked, a thermostat maladjusted: something that could easily be remedied by turning off the heat and allowing the great outdoors to come indoors. All this is so obvious. What is not obvious is what has happened to the American people. It isn't just the commuters, whom we have come to visualize as a supine breed who have got on to the trick of suspending their sensory faculties twice a day while they submit to the creeping dissolution of the railroad industry.
I took off my overcoat and a few minutes later my jacket, and noticed that the car was flecked with the white shirts of the passengers. I soon found my hand moving to loosen my tie. From one end of the car to the other, as we rattled through Westchester Country, we sweated; but we did not moan.I watched the train conductor appear at the head of the car. "Tickets, all tickets, please!" In a more virile scientific paper writing english age, I thought the passengers would seize the conductor and strap him down on a seat over the radiator to share the fate of his patrons. He shuffled down the aisle, picking up tickets, punching commutation cards.
Download this essay as a Word Document. Why Don't We Complain? It was the very last coach and the only empty seat on the entire train, so there was no turning back.The problem was to breathe. Outside the temperature was below freezing. Inside the railroad car the temperature must have been about 85 help to publish paper degrees.