Parade of the Springtime A**holes
Is it just me, or have the rest of you noticed that when winter thaws the a**holes rise to the surface?
Take this weekend. On Friday, I cleaned out my garage still messy from construction that was hastily finished as the snow fell in November. Then, like a good little recycling Vermont socially conscientious person, I filled up my car with bags of cans and bottles and tons of cardboard and went down to the dump where I was told that despite paying FORTY DOLLARS a month for curbside trash service to the same company that ran said dump, I now would have to pay to recycle.
So much for pitching in to reverse global warming.
"Rule changed January first," the dump guy said, smirking at my car loaded with smelly disgusting cardboard. "That'll be four bucks."
Now, if I'd been a true Vermonter, I would have burned the whole toxic pile in my backyard and thrown the bottles/old tires/bazillions of paint cans over the hill into the woods. There used to be a car down there that has now become one with the soil though my sister in law who has a nice wooded lot in her "city" home downtown spent an entire summer digging up old license plates and assorted pieces of junk from her future garden. So I don't put much faith in that one-with-the-soil business.
Fortunately, I'm middle aged now so I tend not to believe what people tell me, even if they're wearing monogramed blue shirts. Removing the cardboard from my car, I threw it in the crusher and informed said dumpster maitre 'd I wouldn't be paying any fee. Emptied out the whole car in front of him as we argued.
I love being an adult.
Next up? The car wash where, having politely cleaned out my car to the side so as not to block the vacuum, I then pulled my car up to the one remaining vacuum only to be cut off by a kid in his late teens driving a newly washed 1998 Honda Civic. He proceeded to wipe it down carefully with a lime green shammy cloth like it was a $200,000 Ferrari while I studied him, contemplating how someone so young could be so stupid. As if he spent his life in a dark room drinking 64 oz. Cokes while flipping through seven hundred channels in a cable-hooked daze. I smiled at him in an attempt to hint that maybe he should start vacuuming. He smiled back and wiped the chrome.
Twenty minutes of careful polishing and no vaccuuming later, a line had formed. He popped open the back of the truck and slowly, slowly rolled the shammy. Look, the Pope would have folded the Shroud of Turin with less care. That done, his friend showed up bass pounding. Oh, lucky day! . At which point, genius strolled over for a little chat.
I leaned out of my car. "Hey! Are you gonna use the vacuum?"
"Nuh uh." The thought, apparently, hadn't once crossed his mind. I'd wasted a half hour.
Back home, my neighbors - the ones in the rental where once the crime lab spent the entire day digging up a buried fetus hence its local nickname, The Fetus House - emerged to rev their engines and shout Booyah! I'm guesstimating two, three families in there. It's a fire trap. Thank god they have the RVs out front to hold the overflow.
Maybe it's because the winters are so tough here and we're stuck in our houses that when the snow begins to melt we emerge, clueless and blinking, dulled by woodsmoke and carbs, with no regard for our fellow human beings. But whatever it is, where I live people are jerks in the early spring.
How about you?