Ratlands

There’s a woman who lives across the parking lot from me who has one of those little “box-on-wheels, I’m better than you because I’m saving the planet” cars.  I’ve never spoken to her, nor she to me, but when we meet coming or going in the parking lot she always glares up at me.

Personally, I don’t care what she drives or that she looks at me like I clubbed a kitten or drop-kicked a puppy in her front yard .  If she wants to squeeze herself into a crackerjack box so she can convince herself she is stopping global warming and is therefore a good person, that’s her business.  I could do without the hostility, but it really isn’t something I spend any time worrying about.  It’s like I heard Dr. Wayne Dyer say once, “What you think of me is none of my business.”

So, the other night I was taking the trash out to the dumpster and this woman was doing the same.  Now, from her front door to the dumpster is, maybe 100 feet, 75 of which is asphalt.  She comes charging out of her apartment with two trash bags, puts them on top of her “box-on-wheels,” hops in, fires it up and proceeds to drive 75 feet to the dumpster, at which point she jumps out, dumps the trash and drives the 75 feet back to her parking space.