I love the future.
The very idea of it, the changes inherent in it, just gives me a thrill. Sometimes it’s a thrill of the wonder of the future and sometimes it’s a thrill of fear, a worry about what comes next.
For the most part, though, I’m always looking forward, anxious to see what new thing will be coming to benefit us, to vex us, to change us. So, yeah, you could say I’m a proponent of progress and moving forward.
(And, if any of you dudes or dudettes figured out by the opening bits that I’m about to talk about an instance in which I’m not thrilled by progress, then, congratulations. You’ve been paying attention for the last couple of years of your life at least.That wasn’t snide, by the way. I mean it. Congratulations on paying attention to the how the world around you works. You’d probably not believe how high is the number of people for whom the world around them is a complete mystery, operating on unknown and ineffable principles. However, I’m just remembering that this is a parenthetical aside and, so, should probably be moving back to the main thrust of my argument.)
In this instance, however, I’m not all that thrilled by the idea of progress. (see above) See, I live in what had been a relatively stable neighborhood. The houses have been here for a relatively long time — since the 1980s at least — almost completely built out. It’s the almost bit that’s causing me some concern here.
See, across the street from the entrance to the cul de sac on which I live, there was one house on a very large piece of property. The owner sold that property to a developer, who then turned around and built 20 homes on that same piece of property. The developer also built a road that connects a larger, more trafficked road, to our road, which runs parallel.
The problem isn’t so much the new neighbors, but the fact that their road allows drivers to circumvent the crowd on the old road by taking ours. And it’s not really the increased traffic. It’s the increased number of numbnuts and jackwagons that seem to be using our road.
They don’t stop at the stop sign (a sizable percentage not even slowing down) despite there being at least 10 kids under 10 years of age living within 100 yards of that stop sign. And there are several who have decided that the yards along our road are not, in fact, yards, but, rather places where they can dump the evidence that they’ve been drinking.
Yep, when I’m out walking with Buzz, The Garbage Disposal That Walks Like A Dog, I constantly find — in the same places every day — empty Coors Light cans, empty and often broken bottles from Icehouse and the occasional Steel Reserve malt liquor can. People toss out empty sixpack containers, still in the bag.
It’s just this blatant disregard for other people that really frosts my chaps, if you dudes know what I mean. The sense of entitlement that they must feel: too important to have to stop at a stop sign despite the danger to others, too important to hide their drinking in their own trashcan.
Now the maroons are starting to dump their empties in actual yards and not just the bits of yards that are further from the homes.
What I want to know is: What goes through someone’s mind where they think that it’s okay to just toss an empty out on someone’s lawn as you’re driving by? Seriously. I want to understand, but I don’t think I ever will.
These types of poltroons just aren’t like the rest of us. Oh, how I really wish I could find out who’s doing it because I have a lot of garbage I’d like to leave on their yard. And, yes, I know two wrongs don’t make a right. But, remember that three rights can make a left.