Litter people
This morning, a scenario happened which has taken place a hundred times before: I was walking out of the train station, when the wind brought a load of brick dust and plastic cups in my direction, sort of battering me in a really low-fi way. I swore, of course, as this is the very last thing you want to experience on the way to work. I then spent the next five minutes a) trying to get grit out of my eyes and b) pondering why this weird wave of rubbish always came at me.
When I was some way down the road I looked back, and my timing was impeccable. There, very clearly, I could see the wind swirl past me, rebound off the building to my right, and batter those who were standing where I’d been. When I looked behind me to see where the source of the brick dust and paper cups was coming from, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before.
Behind the wooden wall were builders all chatting. I’d known they were in there doing stuff, but you don’t take much notice, do you? So anyway, I observed them through the thin gap in the ply. Until one said “oi, mate, what you looking at?”
Then followed me trying to get away, and some London electricians looking people, with builders shouting at me. We then got into a heated debate over the rubbish I had been attacked with daily for some months.
I’d like to say that I stood up to them. That I told them, one by one, that they had to stop littering their site, but I didn’t. Instead I sort of ran away flinging my briefcase at them, telling them they had to get their acts together.
It was embarrassing, but I suppose at least I did do something. That has to count, right?
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