Weblog Sin Pies

By Trevor Ryan

I feel that in general I’m a very accepting person … well, I take that back. I’m very accepting of groups of people to a much greater degree than I am of individuals, and I’ve long grown out of that phase where I feel the need to put others down strictly to feel better about myself. But the one group of people that throws that whole architecture out of whack is the Amish. Can somebody please tell me what is going on here?

The Amish are the worst. I mean this in the nicest possible way, but they truly are. Why, you ask? For a number of reasons, not the least of which is that the Amish are so amicable that to put them down makes me feel worse about myself, which is clearly not how this sort of thing is meant to go down. In fact, as a whole, the Amish act as if every day is opposite day, not just when you’re feeling sassy and suggest that to someone to drive him or her nuts.

While I’ve never even experienced an entire opposite day, I have driven through Amish country (see, it sounds like “bear country” or “snake country” because there are no actual boundaries, which is unnatural. Well, for people anyway) and I can attest to the fact that it’s coo-coo over there. Suppose you’re Amish and you need to go somewhere. Hop in the car, right? Wrong. No car for you, because as far as the Amish are concerned, cars are evil or something. Well, I think my car is evil, so that’s a start, but generally they are not only not evil, but also quite convenient. In fact, the evil of my own vehicle corresponds directly to the substandard degree to which it works. “Aha!” cries the Amish guy who accidentally went online and read this, “But convenience in and of itself is evil.”

This, you silly Amish (see, I’m feeling worse about myself already), is no way to think, except on opposite day, and is certainly no way to win over converts, which is why you aren’t spreading as readily as, say, Scientology, which also has some crazy beliefs, none of which hinders your getting rich and famous, as such beliefs about cars and electricity so effectively do. No one wants to hear about working long hours without complaint. That’s un-American. Long hours, sure, but not without overtime, and sure as hell not without complaint. If I haven’t made a minor complaint to someone by 10 a.m., people would probably think me an imposter and I would be tossed out the window to see if I would shatter like the T1000 in “Terminator 2: Judgment Day” and be proven a witch.

Where am I going with all this Amish bashing (that will make me as unpopular with women as if I were putting down puppies or other humble, hardworking creatures)? I’ll tell you where. I’m trying to open a dialog on a form of discrimination I shall dub “frustracism.” As you probably guessed, it’s a hybrid (or “inbred” — you choose) term meaning prejudice derived strictly from intangible frustration that has no effect whatsoever on he who possesses the emotion. Most prejudices have more to do with fear of the unknown, and the tendency to associate ills of society with a culture of people. The Amish are hurting no one but themselves, and I should be fine with that. I know I have a problem, OK?

Let this be a cry for help. So what if they don’t drive cars, or use electricity, or wear bright clothes … or shave, or use modern machines of any sort. What difference does it make to me? Well, it bugs me. Bugs the hell out of me. I just want to grab one and shake him and yell “get in a car, it’s so much faster than a horse-drawn carriage!” There, I said it. Do I feel better now, you might ask. No. I feel worse. A whole hell of a lot worse. And yes, I do intend to complain about it, goddamn it.

For more information on the Amish, please visit the Ask The Amish FAQ Page. It will help dispell the myth that they’re crazy. Mmm hmm.