Shame
I live in a poor, crime-ridden neighborhood. And I think I have it bad. I respect my neighbors as hard working people who have been screwed by bad families, bad schools, bad government policies and bad corporations. And I am not surprised when my neighbors make bad decisions.
Take for instance the neighbor who is bankrupt. He is sometimes unable to pay his bills, and even as he misses the electricity bill every month, he manages to pay his cable bill—what on Earth would he do without the machine that tells him to buy more stuff he doesn’t need? (I’ll save how he gets the energy to run his satellite dish and big-screen tv for another post.) Recently, as the President of the neighborhood association, he made a decision to rent a giant garbage bin for spring-cleaning but somehow managed to forget to tell the garbage company to pick up their filled bin. The garbage is now stacked very high (methinks I understand how the Egyptians built their pyramids) and stinks to high heaven.
But the intention of this post is not to lament the Association President’s bad decisions—hey I voted for him—, rather it is to make a comment on the disheveled old man who drives up to the garbage bin every morning at about 5:30. When I hear the screak of his ungreased door open, I sneak to a window to watch. At first I thought he was illegally adding to the pile, but instead he subtracts from it. Here an old chair, there a laundry hamper. Does he pillage the pile before most in the neighborhood are awake because he is ashamed? Perhaps, but he carries himself with unexpected dignity. And what does he do after he hauls the shattered pieces into the bed of his truck? Does he repair things? Does he sell them? Does he give them away to those less fortunate than himself? And though he picks over discarded consumer goods passed down by the almost-lowest on the totem pole, it is I who find myself ashamed. Instead of complaining about my lot, shouldn’t I be the one saving old chairs and laundry hampers?
Take for instance the neighbor who is bankrupt. He is sometimes unable to pay his bills, and even as he misses the electricity bill every month, he manages to pay his cable bill—what on Earth would he do without the machine that tells him to buy more stuff he doesn’t need? (I’ll save how he gets the energy to run his satellite dish and big-screen tv for another post.) Recently, as the President of the neighborhood association, he made a decision to rent a giant garbage bin for spring-cleaning but somehow managed to forget to tell the garbage company to pick up their filled bin. The garbage is now stacked very high (methinks I understand how the Egyptians built their pyramids) and stinks to high heaven.
But the intention of this post is not to lament the Association President’s bad decisions—hey I voted for him—, rather it is to make a comment on the disheveled old man who drives up to the garbage bin every morning at about 5:30. When I hear the screak of his ungreased door open, I sneak to a window to watch. At first I thought he was illegally adding to the pile, but instead he subtracts from it. Here an old chair, there a laundry hamper. Does he pillage the pile before most in the neighborhood are awake because he is ashamed? Perhaps, but he carries himself with unexpected dignity. And what does he do after he hauls the shattered pieces into the bed of his truck? Does he repair things? Does he sell them? Does he give them away to those less fortunate than himself? And though he picks over discarded consumer goods passed down by the almost-lowest on the totem pole, it is I who find myself ashamed. Instead of complaining about my lot, shouldn’t I be the one saving old chairs and laundry hampers?
posted by Definer at 3:52 AM
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