Every time I enrolled one of my kids in some music class, I was always intrigued to know who was going to study Besson.
Or oboe.
Whoever is looking for a triangular or cymbal teacher for his child.
After all, if things depended on the children themselves, everyone would learn guitar, piano and drums, and all the wind instruments, more or less, would prefer the saxophone.
So how is it that always, always, in the end the orchestra directors manage to pick up enough girls to give up the delicate look of the side flute, and instead shove a fist into the horn of the forest, or the French or English horn, whatever you call this curly and amazing instrument.
How is it that young guys still find themselves trying to inflate a pipe using a straw, and do so with intense love, even though they know it's pretty hard to give a cool solo piece at a party when you play the bassoon.
What happens when conservatory directors are negligent?
This is a question that is really supposed to bother.
I mention this because there are currently about 100,000 truck drivers missing in the UK.
This is a big problem.
100,000 is a huge number.
Professional drivers of large vehicles are an existential need, and the UK is not a neighborhood.
In fact, it is probably the best example we know of of an orderly country with a glorious (or notorious, depending on which side you look at) tradition of transporting goods from all over the world to any store or pantry across the kingdom.
When the British needed tea he turned worlds, conquered kingdoms and stretched rails so that the fragrant leaves would reach the optimum degree of drying from the end of Ceylon to the most cracked pitcher in Birmingham.
But it turns out that quite a few supermarket shelves are already empty, and there is a shortage of various groceries.
True, it is possible to live with a little less brands of beer in the neighborhood pub, or a little less cheeses in the deli, but when it comes to such a magnitude of driver deficit, it is disturbing to think how it happened and who fell asleep on guard.
• • •
In our childhood, however, driving was a respectable profession.
We sang songs about drivers ("our car", "our brother the driver", and "our driver is a friend"), my whole class was jealous to death in the glow that his father was a truck driver of "Rio" ice creams ), And as far as the "City Land" games are concerned, the profession in the letter N was either a carpenter or a driver.
Sometimes volume (neither nephrologist nor numerologist).
Legendary football players worked at the same time, and proudly, as bus drivers, and this was the profession that awaited them for the days after retirement.
Friends who got on the bus of the team goalkeeper Yitzhak Visoker did not stop getting excited about it, and there is no doubt that only thanks to the fact that there were no mobile devices then, the driver was also able to travel and not spend his whole day taking selfies.
So if you ask, I definitely believe that a reasonable state should make sure that young guys aspire to engage in professions that it considers essential.
To arrange this requires good conditions, and also - no less important - a single pride.
Something went wrong down the road.
In the UK, but also here, there is a deep shortage of drivers.
And when there is a quantitative shortage, it is felt mostly in quality.
Athletes still retire at the same ages as in previous generations, but I have not heard for a long time that any of them started working on the Petah Tikva line.
And more than missing drivers, missing fine drivers.
I can attest to the fact that once every few days I get to stop the car or the scooter, after a professional driver passes before my eyes a dangerous traffic offense.
And I'm not talking about bus drivers who are careful not to signal or enter the station bay, God forbid, because it wastes them three seconds of life, does not suit them well, or harms their image as alpha males.
I got used to it.
I'm talking about outbursts in the square, blocking an intersection, blatantly ignoring right-of-way or crossings.
Life-threatening things.
In these moments I can not resist and shout to the driver something like "You're the pro here. I'm all an amateur. How come you do not know how to drive?"
Wherever we make it, a professional driver was supposed to be much better.
Good not only in terms of skill, but also and especially in terms of keeping the rules and regulations.
But it makes sense to expect that to be the case.
After all, the pro spends a lot more time on the road than we amateurs.
It should treat the road as the gardener treats the grass, and strive for the asphalt to be a pleasant, safe and law-abiding space.
I'm sorry, but we'm far away.
And so marks not only my personal experience (and yours ...) as drivers, riders and pedestrians.
The difficult numbers also indicate that when it comes to road accidents, it is very difficult to say that it is safer to travel by public transport.
This has been a national omission.
It is in the interest of the State of Israel to get out of the private and reduce the amount of vehicles that congest the traffic lanes.
But no one will give up a family car if it does not pay off - and with all due respect to improving infrastructure, or measures that will burden tax and customs, no one will switch to public transport before being convinced above all, this is the safest step we can take for our family Sitting Champion.
Someone here, and also in the UK, has probably forgotten to train oboe and bassoon players.
Lately, right in recent days, the frequency of shocking events has crossed the line.
Professional drivers who cause terrible accidents.
Horticultural gardeners.
Therapists who turn out to be monsters.
The culprits will be found by the legal system.
But the responsibility ... the responsibility lies with the directors of the orchestra and the conservatory.
Because when the drivers, caregivers, foundation players and educators of tomorrow are not located and trained, and do not turn the essential professions into well-groomed and coveted routes, the shocking images are only a matter of time.
• • •
Robert Altman's "Short Pictures" has an exemplary and memorable cinematic moment.
It happens towards the end.
A sudden earthquake shakes all the small and big separate plots that make up this great film.
Tom Waits, who plays a drunk taxi driver who manages to smash everything he lied to, pulls his head out the door and looks at the shaky and crumbling world.
His face says this is exactly what needs to happen.
end of the world.
He devotes himself with pleasure to catastrophe and welcomes her.
But then everything calmed down.
The noise ends as it began.
Tom Waits is covered in bitter and astonished disappointment.
Something encouraging had finally happened — and it was gone.
Well, I was reminded of this picture in those few hours of grace that befell us this week during the temporary downfall of Facebook, WhatsApp and all that.
It ended a little too fast, in my opinion.
shishabat@israelhayom.co.il