959.02 miles. That’s how far Mapquest said my friend and I would have to drive to get from my house to Tampa, Fla. for Spring Break. With hundreds of miles ahead of us we started making a random list of things that we saw along the way in order to pass time.
Two turkeys traipsing down the road in Virginia, a mattress and box spring on the side of the road not so long after, our first hitchhiker in Georgia, and, a van completely plastered with bumper stickers all made it onto our version of Dave Letterman’s “Top 10.”
These bumper stickers, unattractive and unsightly as they were, wrapped their way around the butt of this minivan. I’m not a fan of bumper stickers anyway, they strike me kind of like tattoos: they’re cool when you get them, but after a while they lose their appeal. However, these bumpers stickers were advertising religion.
The car suddenly had a Bible-thumping personality. “Got God?” it asked. The van even offered psychological advice—“When life’s got you down, look up to God”—and had a cheeky sense of humor: “America Needs a Faith Lift.” As playful and lighthearted as the stickers were, they made me cringe.
Not only did they make this poor car look hideous, but I felt like the passengers were also forcing their religious views upon me without my consent, and the only thing I could do was recline my seat back.
Prior to this trip I had experienced the same thing with a campus affiliated group. Around Valentine’s Day I was targeted, selected among an ambling crowd by the Union, by a fellow student who handed me a card that asked if I would “Be God’s Valentine.”
“Sorry, but no,” I thought. “I won’t be God’s Valentine, I’m insulted and if you could please tell everyone else you hand this to to recycle it, I would appreciate it.”
What right do people have to force their views on you, in any form? It’s obtrusive, invasive and overtly rude. Or so I thought.
When I recounted the event to a coworker, she told me that she feels as if it is more an aspect of being affiliated with a group. Nobody, she said, was trying to force their views on me. Rather, they were just stating their affiliation.
I saw her point, though I didn’t necessarily believe it to be completely true, and realized that essentially I had been doing the same thing.
Every time I put on a piece of clothing plastered with a name brand, drive my car, (as bumper sticker-less as it is), I become part of a certain brand group. When I whip out my college ID I say that I am part of the Towson group, just like the people in that minivan were part of their own religious group.
I realized that I unknowingly categorize and schematize myself into different affiliated groups.
This epiphany, or departure from my original train of thought, made me question individuality. Why do people categorize themselves anyway? Unconsciously, as I had been doing, or consciously, like the people in that minivan.
Are we not comfortable enough in our individuality to stand alone?
Perhaps membership isn’t so much about losing individuality, but gaining strength in numbers. If it is our faith that binds us, so be it, or clothing, collegiate affiliation, or car brand. Whatever the case, affiliation fills some psychological need: a need of support or unity, social interaction perhaps.
And when you can’t have that social interaction, perhaps slapping a bumper sticker on your car to profess your affiliation serves the purpose or fills the need. Who knows, you could run into a fellow cruiser—car plastered with a bumper sticker personality—who is just like yourself.
Mike Fila is a sophomore mass communication major and The Towerlight's assistant news editor.
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