Posted in Grindstone

When the bird won’t do

This morning on the way to work I saw a guy finish his breakfast, ball up the paper bag it came in, roll down his window and toss it on the ground. He immediately caught my eye and started chiding me (with his motions) for powdering my mess of broken capillaries that passes for a face.

I started yelling at him about his trash. I rolled down my window (passenger side – he was to my right) to make sure he knew what I meant. He had hypocrite all over his face. I could see that he routinely chides his wife/lover/significant other/spouse/ward/charge/his own mother/(your name here)  for stuff that he does all the time.

He knew I was angry and he was waiting to see my white middle finger once the light turned green. He glanced over, hoping for vitriol.

He got Gandhi. I pressed my palms together in such a way as to say, “I’m praying for you buddy.”  Not in that wimpy Christians-we-look-down way, in the Gandhi way.  I might as well have had a white diaper on.

Ape that he was, he had to do the same to me. Never was a man with a mustache so unappealing.