And the moral is . . .
Fri, 2016-09-09 05:00
News Staff
Coffee Talk
Renae Brumbaugh Green
I live in a college town. That means our population goes up by several thousand every fall, and drops by several thousand again each summer. It also means we have some really trendy coffee shops and quirky little stores we probably wouldn’t have without the 18-22 crowd supporting them. All in all, I like being in a college town.
But there are a few things college life brings that I’m not fond of. Mainly, immature youngsters, away from home for the first time, testing their boundaries and sowing their oats.
A couple of weekends ago, when the new crop of freshmen were moving into their dorms and upperclassmen were moving back into their apartments, I went to Wal-Mart—against my better judgment. Move-in weekend is always a madhouse, and the locals know to avoid shopping, and driving, and pretty much everything in town, at all cost. Just stay home.
In case of emergency, it’s better to drive an hour to the next town than to visit any of our local businesses at move-in time.
But we were out of trash bags.
Completely and totally out.
So I decided to battle the throng and prayed I got out of that place with my sanity.
On the way into Wal-Mart, I noticed a crowd gathering out front. Wide-eyed moms and dads watched, alongside their 18-year-old freshmen babies, as two college-aged cowboys duked it out in front of everyone, in an apparent effort to display their superior masculinity. Just as I made it to the entrance, one of them was knocked out cold.
I kept walking. Said a prayer, yes. But judging from the number of cell phones glued to people’s ears, I figured the police had already been called, and my services weren’t needed.
On the bright side—for me, anyway—most of the customers were in the parking lot watching the show, and I got in and out pretty quickly with my trash bags. By the time I left, six police cars and an ambulance surrounded the entrance. I scooted through the crowd, got in my vehicle, and left without notice.
Later that week, I spotted a bright pink item in the middle of the road near our house. Closer inspection showed it was . . . ahem . . . a ladies’ undergarment.
Yeah.
As I drove on, I noticed more of these items—in all colors—strewn here and there on the side of the road. Surely a college prank of some sort.
Good grief.
I ignored them and drove past. Apparently that’s what all my neighbors did, as well, because every day for the next week, I viewed those brightly-colored unmentionables, all up and down the road as I drove my son to school.
And on the way home.
And on the way back, to pick him up.
And on the way home again.
I passed them on the way to church. On the way to the grocery store. On the way to anywhere.
And each time I thought, “Why doesn’t somebody pick up those dadgum panties and bras items?”
But of course, I didn’t want to touch them. Nobody else did either.
Finally, this morning, I got sick of looking at them. I made sure nobody was coming in either direction (I certainly didn’t want anyone to think they were mine!), got out and picked up the blasted things. One by one, I gathered them and put them in the car. Pity, too, because they looked new.
Other than the tire tracks, that is.
I took them home and started to dump them in our trashcan. But, what would the garbage man think?
So I washed them, folded them neatly, and now I’m trying to decide whether or not it’s appropriate to donate perfectly nice personal attire to a charity. I mean, I’m not going to wear them. But somebody else might. Or not? I don’t know.
I just don’t know.
And now I’m stuck here, writing this story to you, and trying to come up with a moral.
Waste not, want not?
Keep America beautiful?
Don’t get your panties in a wad?
I’m at a loss.
And the whole incident reminds me of other times in my life when I had no idea what the right thing to do was. At those times, we just have to do the best we can and move forward.
Sometimes, “the best we can” involves saying a prayer and staying out of the way. Other times, it means getting our hands dirty and doing what no one else wants to do.
I hope, while I’m doing my best, I never hurt anybody. I hope I show love and make this world a better, more beautiful place. And last, but not least, I sure pray nobody ever has to pick up my unmentionables off the road. Cause just between you and me, mine aren’t nearly as cute as that 18-year-old’s.
“He has told you, oh man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” Micah 6:8.