Domestic Violins

So I was all set to attend a Korean violin recital this afternoon, when I realised that my lift was not legally allowed to drive passengers.

He however had no problem with this, insisting that I was wrong.

So as we cruised through leafy Auckland countryside, I turned this over in my head, attempting to nail just what was wrong with my acceptance. After all, he was in the wrong, not me. I’d warned him. I’d argued with him. He’d quite deliberately chosen his course of action, and no-one could blame me, on any level. Why was it wrong for me to accept the lift at his behest?

When we arrived at the home (mansion, actually) where the performance would happen, the violinist’s father confirmed my assertion, and my friend suddenly found himself outnumbered. He realised that he actually wasn’t allowed to drive passengers after all. Good, so he wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

As I later sat marvelling at such extraordinary violin and piano-playing, 2 and 2 finally made 4 in my head. My friend was my lift home. Purely by sitting in this chair I was now compelling him to repeat what he had already got away with once.

So I got a lift back off the violinist’s father instead.