(Any comments, please contact me at dadofprince@gmail.com. Thanks!)
I drove through the mostly barren countryside the other day, trailing a pickup truck. It weaved a little, so I was sure to maintain a wide following distance.
Suddenly, as it swerved again, a plastic water bottle flew from the passenger side window. It went right back behind the truck, right in my path. Of course it did no damage, but I felt it as it clucked on my grille. It was clear that it was meant to be thrown backwards, not out to the side.
The temerity, I thought, was both mystifying and disappointing. The next town was less than 20 minutes away. Couldn't they wait and toss it in some garbage can along a street, or alongside a McDonald's?
It all had the classic feel of a good-old-boy outing, even though it was maybe two in the afternoon. You know, guzzle some hard liquor, get hammered, and tell the world that no hoots were given, especially about the damage to the countryside's look caused by one little plastic bottle. What the hell would it hurt?
But I was offended. I felt like part of the junk that had been discarded. When someone makes it obvious that they don't care about your attitudes and don't share your values, what you want to do as soon as possible is to get yourself away from them. But of course, I couldn't. There was no alternative route to where I was going. I had to keep following them. It felt a little scarring, like I shared in their disdain. The only disdain I felt was for them.
They couldn't care less about my sensitivities about the environment, either. Something like 55 years ago, Lady Bird Johnson had embarked on a national beautification program that committed itself to cleaning up the growing litter along roadways. Obviously, those effects have fizzled away. I've seen the same on the Interstate; wrappers and bottles strewn horribly for a full mile sometimes. There are fines for such behavior, of course, but the enforcement of that can't be high on anyone's priority list. No wonder climate change is bearing down on us. No wonder we'd still rather not think about it.
Suddenly, though, the pickup's driver must have noticed me in his mirror and stuck his arm out his window. He slowed down and waved to let me go past. It was a two-lane road, so he'd seen that no oncoming traffic was present.
So what should I do? Just help myself to unexpected politeness, or scoot by and shake my finger at them in obvious scolding for tossing litter at me? I shuddered momentarily. For all I knew, one of them might have a weapon. Was it worth the trouble for me to act like a teacher, which is what I've been, and remind them of what they'd done?
No. Not worth it. If they had more garbage to jettison, at least I wouldn't be in the way. The next thing to get tossed at whoever trailed them might be a glass bottle. That damage might be enormous and even dangerous.
I accelerated and raced by. I even waved thank you, like I do in traffic jams when I'm either allowed in to a lane where everyone has to go, or squeeze in front of someone who's unconsciously let the parade have a spot open for it. Waving costs nothing and lets someone know that you're grateful. You've never met nor will you ever meet. But it's like being someone's guest, albeit for a few moments. Never hurts to make the person behind you feel valued.
The boys in the pickup didn't deserve to feel valued, I didn't think, but neither would they feel justified in emptying a round from their shotgun to teach me a lesson. Even if they didn't have one, they could engage in hijinks like tailgating me at 60 miles per hour just to have a little terrifying fun. I had no stomach for that.
Besides, I was out of state, and that might give them an additional excuse to take out their frustrations, whatever they might be, on someone who had decided to be "uppity," as they might call it. I recalled the commercial: "You'd better not drive like that in this part of North Carolina (though it isn't where this happened)," some state patrolman said to someone he'd stopped. If you own where you live, you gain some self-appointed sanctimoniousness which might justify defending one's homeland with excessive attention. I wasn't picking that kind of fight, disgusted though I was. Add the possibility of drinking in that pickup, and well, their judgment, which was already sorely lacking, might for all I knew take a mean turn.
Contrast that with a moment while walking in a park the other day. I do that often not only to stretch my back but keep my heart, rearranged by triple by-pass surgery five years ago, stimulated as much as it can--jogging being impossible because my hip replacement two years ago didn't take as well as it should have. It's a well-kept park, free from litter. The users tend to be responsible and tidy. The surrounding neighborhoods are filled with old and new money, people who wouldn't remotely consider dropping a candy wrapper or tossing a plastic water bottle aside uncaringly. They like a well-kept ship. They get that part of a place's beauty is partly made up of trash that it lacks.
But I had never seen this before: A motorist driving through one of the park's roadways, suddenly stopped as I approached it. A refuse can stood at the juncture of the sidewalk and the road, just inside the curb. The driver, who kept his car running, simply got out and threw something into the can. It looked like a plastic water bottle.
I had to remark. "Great that you're thinking about the environment," I told him. He smiled and drove off.
One of these people were black. One was white. I'll let you figure out which was which.
Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.
Mister Mark
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