Litterbug

As I watched a plastic bag drift around a windy parking lot the other day, I was reminded of a day, many years ago, when I witnessed a litterbug in action.  On that previous day, my wife and I had just pulled up behind a long line of cars attempting to exit a parking lot onto a busy street.  Just as we pulled behind the last car in line, the man driving the car tossed an empty cigarette pack out onto the pavement.

“I don’t like that,” I calmly informed my wife as I glared at the discarded pack on the pavement.  I jammed my automobile into neutral, hit the parking brake, hopped out the driver’s door, and trotted out to pick up the discarded cigarette pack below the driver’s window.  By the time I scooped-up the wadded pack, the driver had already closed his window.

I rapped on the car window with the knuckles on my free hand.

The window drew down again and I found a middle-aged man staring at me with an expression that seemed a marriage of wonderment and fear.  I extended the litter to him.  “Here you go,” I said, “I think this fell from your car.”

The man said nothing.

I wiggled the litter in front of the stranger’s face a little bit.

The man, having no other decent option, took the litter back.

I walked back to my car and climbed in behind the steering wheel again just as the car in front of me advanced one slot closer to the edge of the street.

“Why did you do that?” my wife asked.

“Because litter sucks,” I answered.

--Mitchell Hegman