And as much as it hurts to admit, we are apes. We are incapable of having nice things. We simply cannot be trusted, because we are not half as civilised as we pretend to be.
Take for example my flight the other day. Scheduled to arrive at midnight, it was delayed by a little over two hours. This sets the scene for our arrival into Auckland.
We burst off the plane like a flash flood. Our collective form as a crowd was a torrent of viscous liquid, filling the space around us entirely and flowing freely through the free flowing spirits trying to lure us into duty free.
But we were no match for tasters today, those holding the trays with those little plastic shot glasses were knocked off their feet by the deceptively strong undercurrent of urgency to escape the airport.
Then we hit Customs, and our frothy determination to take the path of least resistance was halted by the dam(n) wall of customs.
A lady in the correct uniform to give her authority at that time hoisted herself up on to the high ground and called down to the bubbling masses of us below that the usual methods of self-processing through Customs, the ones which are like a slot machine and a photobooth combined, were not working. We would have to line up and be manually processed like the past 20 years of technological innovation never happened.
We filed one by one into the tangles of ribbon tape, and wrapped around and around in a big zig-zag. Our silky sloshiness slowly hardened into thick, dark green sludge, as we oozed through the pipework and towards our final destination.
As the torrent continued to arrive behind us, Moses repeatedly climbed upon the rock and parted the waters below, sending half to the left processing point and half to the right. We stood still, and although we started out peacefully and quietly as all sludge does, we soon began to stagnate.
I remember being made to read Lord of the Flies when I was a kid. I distinctly remember thinking that the decay of society and its morality in such a situation was not a likely possibility.
The whole story seemed improbable, even more so after living through the Christchurch earthquakes, and seeing how flames of adversity tend to forge bonds rather than melt human connection.
But there, at 2am in the arrivals hall, it all began to make sense. True human nature began to shine through the cracking facades of civilised people who had been pushed too far in one night.
The layout of the line in relation to the booths in which our uniformed superiors resided made it possible to cut straight through the line, plain and simple. But to do so you had to walk past the whole crowd of increasingly hostile people, who were longing for their own bed, but were currently entangled in a rectangular block of one-way traffic edging oh so slowly to the front. Social pressure was the glue holding it all together.
A few of the fresh-faced people straight off the plane accidentally, or perhaps not accidentally, circumvented the holding crates waiting on the side. Make no mistake, all 60 or so of us turned in unison to watch what would happen. We were now united as a pack.
The smartly dressed young businessman walked up to the Customs lady, gave her his passport, and was allowed immediately to continue his flow to baggage collection.
A murmur went through the wide-eyed crowd. We all spun around in circles, desperate to lock disapproving eyes and shake heads with as many of the herd as possible.
Then it happened again. We collectively longed for the schadenfreude of the Customs officer sending them back to the end of the line. We longed for fairness and equality. But life brings neither, and the young lady went straight through.
The murmur escalated into a buzz. The revolution was building among us. A riot was imminent. If someone were to burst out into "Do you hear the people sing?", the crowd would have joined them.
Instead one man loudly announced to his wife - "F*** it, if they can do it then so can I". He awkwardly limboed under the ribbon separator and walked to the front of the line.
The crowd pined for someone, anyone, to take charge and tell him off. Even the leaders among the tribe searched for a leader. But all that came out was passive aggressive noises.
Not that they weren't powerful all the same. His wife, who he had now left behind as a pack of hunted buffalo sacrifice their weakest member, was torn. Make a break for the exit and face the torrential tutting of the mob, or disobey her pack leader, who was now wildly gesticulating towards her and the horde of scowls directly behind her. She stayed, and so did the rest of us. The societal glue held.
I made it to the hotel eventually. When I got into my room, the lights wouldn't turn on. It was because I had forgotten to put the card in the little holder in the wall, the one there because people can't be trusted to turn off the lights when they leave.
When I went to hang up my shirts, I was befuddled by the coat hangers stuck in the wardrobe, should a guest try to pinch them.
Society has adapted to human nature, because as much as we like it, we're about three steps out of the cave - and it doesn't take much to expose that.
