I often feel invisible as I enter the world of the cashier.  I am surprised if s/he mumbles hello, shocked if there is eye contact.  If there are 2 people behind the checkout counter, most often they are locked into their own conversation – important topics like what they did last night or what great event is on their radar after work.  I thought Facebook covered all that.  Sometimes for fun, I’ll try to join in the conversation just to make a point.  Mostly I just hope for a glimpse of recognition that I am there.  I can’t count the times I have waited for a clerk to stop texting in order to take my cash.  Or, standing with their back to me, the employee in the middle of a phone call glances over their shoulder with some disdain at my interruption, having to tell their pal that they will call back in a minute. That’s when I always apologize for the interruption.  Usually they don’t catch the sarcasm.  On those rare occasions when one is actually spoken to, it is often lack luster.  How are you did you find everything have a good day.

My most memorable experience was at a Safeway liquor store.  I was the only customer in the store at the time.  As I placed my 2 bottles of wine on the counter, the clerk barely looked my way.  I gave him my credit card, stood waiting for it to ring through and watched in horror as the clerk, also waiting, half sat on the counter, picked up a book and started reading it in front of me.  “What are you doing?”  “I’m reading.”  “You’re not supposed to be reading.”  “Why not?  What do you want me to do – talk to you or something?!”

Actually, yes I do.

After much head scratching and asking me over and over again if I was sure I parked my car in the last row, the light bulb was turned on in one attendant’s head as he asked what day I had parked my car and suddenly remembered the lot had since expanded, by moving the fence and adding 5 more rows.  It had also grown lengthwise by a third.  No wonder it felt so strange.  We all piled into the bus and found my little car waiting patiently in the 6^th row from the end.

It had been a long week on the road working on a project that meant travelling every day and taking care of a group of 6 people who all had their quirks.  The logistics of the trip were my responsibility so I had to be on my toes arranging flights, hotels, renting vehicles, organizing meals and setting up interviews. To be honest, I was glad it was over and happy to be heading home to my dog Annie and Christmas preparations.  Part of my anxiety in trying to locate my car centered around Annie who was now long overdue for her dinner.  I told my dog sitter that I would be home in plenty of time to feed and take her out for a pee and poo, not expecting my plane would be late and my car lost.  Annie is usually fed at 6 and it was now well past 8.

I drove home as fast as I could on the icy streets, parked and hauled my bag into the house where a very anxious, pacing dog awaited.  No time for me to pee or change into warmer dog walking clothes, I just put on Annie’s collar and leash and headed back out the door.  As I was locking the front door, Annie began to bark like crazy and almost pulled me over on the slippery porch. Annie is not friendly to other critters and I mean not friendly.  I adopted her when she was two and have thwarted numerous fights in the eight years since – some started by her, some seemingly unprovoked, all scary.  I instinctively grabbed her before looking to see what the cause of her frenzy was.  On my front lawn and running towards us was a black lab on the loose.  The dog’s owner was at the front walk not looking too worried about the situation.  I called to him to please get his dog and he responded with don’t worry, he’s friendly.

-       Great but my dog is NOT friendly and that’s why she’s on a leash.

-       CALM DOWN.

-        Don’t tell me to calm down. GET YOUR DOG. Your dog is in MY yard.

-       Alright, alright.  CALM DOWN. Stop making a fucking big deal out of nothing.

-       PLEASE grab your dog before something happens.  I can’t hold my dog and control yours at the same time.

-       For Heaven’s sake, please RELAX.  (finally getting his dog)

-       AND please pick up your dog’s poo.

-       My dog did NOT POO in your yard.

-       Maybe not now but you NEVER pick up his poo.

-       What the hell are you talking about?  You are a fucking idiot!  What a stupid jerk!  I have NEVER EVEN BEEN HERE BEFORE!   Fucking bitch!

Still yelling and swearing up a storm and I mean really yelling and swearing, he turned with his dog and took some packages out of his old station wagon parked in front of my house, crossed the street and entered an apartment building. There was no space in his curses for me to respond.  I stood in the cold, stunned by the force of his words.

I headed off down the street trying to shake off the negativity.  I can’t remember anyone ever talking to me so badly.  As we pattered around the block however, I realized that even though he was a total jerk, I had been wrong to accuse him of the ‘poo’ thing and in the dark, had confused him with someone else.

Side story:  One block away lives a very arrogant man and his black lab Bob.  Everyone in the neighborhood is annoyed with this guy because since Bob was a pup, the owner has simply opened his front door and let Bob run free into our inner city streets.  We have rescued Bob time after time from near death.  He has been picked up by Animal Services often and many fines were pending.  On the rare occasions that this guy walks Bob, he leaves poo wherever it drops.  He simply doesn’t care about his neighbors let alone his dog. I had a run in with him one night months ago as I saw Bob poo next door and watched the owner walk away.  I called out to please come back and pick it up but he ignored me.  I wondered when I would run into him again and what I would say.

As I walked with Annie that cold December night, I thought about what I should do.  I was furious with the way I had been spoken to but kept coming back to the fact that I had been wrong and should take responsibility for that.  I finally decided that I had to admit my mistake.  Upon returning home, I grabbed a piece of easily seen orange paper and wrote a short confession:

“I am truly sorry.  I mistook you and your dog for a very similar dog and owner who live nearby.  The dog is a good dog but runs free and the owner never picks up after him.  I mistakenly thought you were him.  Have a Merry Christmas.”

I put my hastily scribbled note on the windshield of his old car, thankful I didn’t run into him and went to bed content at least that I had owned up to my error.  The next morning I took Annie out for her morning walk expecting to see my note crumpled or ripped into shreds and thrown on the ground.  The station wagon and my note were nowhere to be seen.  It was a beautiful winter day with blue sky and sun glistening on the snow.  When we returned home I noticed a corner of orange paper sticking out of my mailbox.

I often picture him on that frigid night, returning to his vehicle in the dark – with his black lab tagging along behind.  No doubt still mad at me, not the best state of mind to drive in winter.  His dog jumps in the backseat and as he opens the driver’s door, he sees a piece of orange paper tucked under the windshield wiper.  Still standing at the car door he takes off a glove, unfolds and reads my note, his breath a white cloud clearly visible by the light of the street lamp.  He stops, looking into the distance before getting into the car.  A few minutes go by without any movement and then he turns on the overhead light and searches for a pencil.  All anger has left and in its place is a decision to be vulnerable. Turning my note over, he writes a reply:

“I too am very sorry.  I just lost my  job along with a lot of money and since my dad died my dog has been my saving grace.  I’m more alone than anyone should be and Christmas has been the hardest time of year for far too long.  My outburst was selfish and uncalled for and I apologize.        You have a Merry Christmas as well.”

My heart stopped when I read his note.  All annoyance gone, relief flooded over me – relief that I had listened to my inner voice and written that note.  My small confession had opened a heart.  I still keep that note on my desk so that every day I am reminded of a cold night and a sudden clash between two strangers who then changed the course and power of an angry exchange. By being open and accountable, we were given a small and rare glimpse into each other’s story and came away with compassion.  

I could rant about how maddening it is when owners do not pick up their dog’s poo.  Of course it drives me crazy and somehow makes all dog guardians look bad.  I don’t want people to hate all dogs and the humans attached to them.  We have all had the experience of finding day old logs on the lawn or poo attached to a shoe and it ‘s funny how one never sees these poos actually happening.  They must literally come out at night to poo willy nilly.  On the rare occasion I have witnessed the transgression, I politely yell out “Excuse me.  Do you need a bag?”  This is usually met with a chagrined face and acceptance of the offer.  Sometimes however I am left to run after human and beast repeating my offer over and over.  Quite the scene.

Here’s what I really don’t get.  I constantly come across poo bags – clearly with poo in them, usually all tied up and then just left on the ground – by the side of a city path, in the middle of a park, or strangely – right beside a garbage can.  I have never seen someone doing this, just the evidence of the act.  I cannot imagine what they are thinking.  Do they think there is a poo fairy waiting to swoop down and put that bag where it belongs?  It’s as if they figured out part of the bylaw (and pure common sense) and realize they have to pick up their dog’s poo but then completely lose it and decide to leave it out in the open where someone somehow sometime will come along and finish the job.

I would really like to run into one of these idiots.

And that brings me to what is really wrong – the pervasive misuse of toilets which when corrected will stop the age old argument forever.  It’s all about The Lid.

I know I speak for my plumber when I say that most people have no idea what the toilet lid is for.  I often wonder what they must think.  Perhaps they think it’s a built in stepping stool.  Or a handy chair if one is chatting to a friend while they are brushing their teeth or popping pimples.  Or a good spot to wait and scare someone coming out of the shower.  O.K. those are all useful but it is not the toilet lid’s real purpose.  Believe it or not it truly has a function and an important one.  Whether the toilet is used by a male or female, the toilet lid is supposed to be lowered into position BEFORE flushing.  Once down, it stops germs from flying all over the room.  If it is left up, these nasty little beasties escape from the bowl and land on anything within reach – and the reach is far.  Studies have found fecal matter on tooth brushes at the other side of the room.  Yuck.

Let’s stop all this bickering about the toilet seat – up down up down – and put the energy where it belongs.  The Lid.  EVERYONE should put the lid down when finished with their business.  Then flush.  Simple.  What an equalizer.  The whole toilet will function as it should and be equally ready for whoever needs it next.

(and it looks great).

(oh and btw do not use those horrible toilet lid covers.  Ugly).

Here comes the RANT: Art’s stories were all very entertaining until he told me about the animals he has rescued from the garbage, discarded by thoughtless, CRUEL humans. Puppies, cats, lizards, birds. Many. The birds were found in a dumpster behind a high end condo one night when the temperature was minus 30 Celsius. Five budgies in one cage, 2 more cages with a parrot and a cockatiel. Art grabbed all 3 cages and waved down a taxi. The taxi refused to take animals so Art waved again, this time at the police who fined the taxi driver and took away his license. Now all 7 birds call Art’s house HOME where he cares for them as they should be cared for. He jumped in a dark dumpster one rainy day and as he was searching for bottles and cans, he felt something grab onto his leg. Jumping back he let his eyes get used to the dark and there in the corner was a very frightened 3 foot lizard. Getting out of a dumpster is much more difficult than getting in and trying to take a large, scared lizard with you greatly exacerbates the situation so Art had to ponder his next move carefully. Finally, he managed to get the Iguana to grab onto his arm and whispering ‘hang on’, climbed out of the dumpster into the light and safety with the poor abandoned creature. The local humane society has gotten to know Art well over the years and many deserted, forlorn creatures owe him their lives.

Before going our separate ways, Art and I shook our heads and shared some moments of disbelief and despair that people could be so heartless towards innocent, helpless beings. Art, you can have my bottles anytime (sorry I don’t have any gold earrings).

I recently spent an hour sweeping up butts around one (yes, only one)  bench in the small park near my house – see photo.  A big smelly pile of butt garbage just a few feet away from a garbage can.  It seems most smokers do not think butts are actually garbage.  People who normally would not ‘litter’ just toss their butts out the car window or flick them on the ground.

I cringe at every film scene that uses this casual act of littering to  punctuate an emotion or segue to another scene.  It is so common to see that it now actually seems normal, o.k., harmless.  Far from true.

The city I live in finally made it illegal to smoke inside most buildings so now everyone smokes outdoors but no genius has realized it might be a good idea to have ashtrays outside for the many butts which litter the doorways, lawns, sidewalks, gutters all over the city.  People smoke outside bars, restaurants, coffee shops – I think it should be the responsibility of those businesses to provide disposals and to clean up the ground.  It’s their customers, their business.  C’mon.

Yes, I do talk to smokers when I see them throw their butt on the ground and I ask them to please ‘pick it up’.  As you can imagine sometimes that works, sometimes not.   It’s bad enough that non-smokers have to take a deep breath and run the smelly gauntlet when entering public buildings; it’s worse when we have to deal with the remains of this dirty habit.  A few times I’ve actually seen someone open their car door, dump a full ashtray on the ground and drive away.  Another proud human moment.

The butts are not only ugly and filthy – they are a huge environmental hazard.  News Flash – butts are NOT biodegradable.  NOT.  They may seem small and harmless but guess what they contain – tar, arsenic, vinyl chloride, acetone, mercury, lead, formaldehyde, hydrogen cyanide.  Butts can take up to 15 years to disintegrate and when they do, they release all their poisons into the ground.  Those that get into storm drains end up in our rivers, lakes, and oceans where fish mistake them for food.  Birds use them for nesting material and pets think they are treats.  All deadly mistakes.

http://whyquit.com/whyquit/a_butts.htm

Talk to smokers. Ask communities to provide disposals. Beg businesses to act responsibly. Sweep them up. Someone may be watching and who knows, they may get it and actually change.

I walk my dog Annie 3 times a day and everyday I encounter vehicles needlessly spewing out their toxic gases while idiot owners chat on the phone, text, put on makeup, nap, pick their nose – whatever.  Or the car is empty because the owner is in the house waiting for it to warm up.  I cannot tell you how many running cars, trucks, vans I see outside banks, convenience stores, coffee shops, or in drive-through line ups.  Then there’s the parents who wait outside day care centers and schools in running vehicles for 10, 15, 30 minutes.  Don’t even get me started on vehicles running at train crossings. What are they thinking?!

I could give numerous examples – one of my ‘favorite’ moments one morning was coming upon a rather large woman, sitting in her running car eating a bowl of cereal.  She stared at me jumping up and down in front of her mimicking the hand motion for turning off the ignition.  She shook her head NO and continued eating.  Just loved her.

For some reason, many people actually think their vehicle is their own personal heating or cooling machine.  It really has nothing to do with what the vehicle needs – it’s all about the owner who thinks that whenever they get in their car, it should be the perfect temperature.  And they also think because it’s their car, they can do what they want.

Facts:

Ten seconds of idling can use more fuel than turning off the engine and restarting it.

Every 10 minutes of idling uses at least ,75 litres of gas and up to 2.65 litres for an 8-cylinder engine. Every litre of gas used produces over 2 kilograms of carbon dioxide.

For more info go to:

http://oee.nrcan.gc.ca/transportation/idling/why-idle.cfm?attr=8

I see vehicles from blocks away as I patter down the street – the running lights are on and exhaust curls into the once fresh air.  I prepare myself and at least 3 or 4 times a day, winter or summer, I knock on a window or wave madly in front of a windshield and choose my approach, all the while trying to smile and be pleasant:

‘Please don’t leave your car running.’

‘Do you mind turning off your vehicle?’

‘Is it necessary for your car to be running while you sit here?’

‘Did you know this is an idle free zone?’

I am always coming up with new lines and am open to any ideas.  The responses I get are varied – a lot of “Fuck Offs’, a few sarcastic ‘Thanks for that note’ and even some genuine thanks.  Many reach over and turn off the engine, some cheerfully, some begrudgingly.  At least everyone I challenge can no longer look in the mirror and tell themselves they didn’t know.

Some even ask me ‘why?’ and then I get to launch into other one liners:

‘Because it poisons the air’

‘Because it’s bad for the environment’

‘Because I’m trying to breathe’

‘Because we share the air”

‘Because my ferocious Jack Russell Terrier will take a bite out of your tire’ (I have to run like hell after that one)

Unfortunately I live in a country that gets cold and worse in a city that is backwards beyond description so we do not yet have anti- idling laws.  Nothing to back me up – yet.

I encourage others to speak up.

End Idling.

An epiphany can’t be planned.  When you least expect it, something hits you and in some way changes you – spiritually, emotionally – and why not?, even practically.  I had one a few years ago, in of all places a gas station, while I was patiently waiting for my tank to fill.  I reached over to pat my dog Annie, and happened to glance up at a large advertisement pasted on the gas station window. Cigarettes.  $8.75 a pack.  Apparently this was some sort of ‘deal’.  I almost fell out of my car.  Being an ardent non-smoker,  I truly was not aware that a pack of ‘smokes’ had climbed so high.  Unbelievable.

I used to know how much cigarettes cost.  There was a time when I actually smoked occasionally.  It started years ago when I was living in Japan and was constantly surrounded by cigarette smoke -  in planes and taxis, waiting on train platforms, walking down crowded streets and of course, in any of the many bars, restaurants and karaoke joints.  I taught English at a well known language school where most of the teachers smoked and usually all at the same time.  Each hour we taught one on one for 50 intense minutes waiting for the bell announcing the end of the high pressured drills.  As soon as that bell rang,  all the teachers left their small classrooms and quickly headed to the equally small teachers lounge for the highly anticipated 10 minute break.  Almost everyone lit up and if you didn’t, you were smoking anyway.  Ten people greedily sucked away until another bell  sounded and everyone scurried back to nervously awaiting students.

At some point I decided it was impossible to fight so I simply joined in.  When I left Japan,  I became one of those annoying non-addicted smokers, the take it or leave it type.  I would smoke a cigarette a day for a week and then go 3 weeks without even thinking about one.  When I came to my senses and decided that I could not go around hating cigarette smoke while dragging away on the side, I jumped off the fence and landed on the side of reason.  Since that day, I confess,  I have been known to relentlessly nag my misguided friends who still have not seen the light.

Back to the gas station.  What struck me as so unbelievable on this cheery summer day, was that given the prices clearly printed in large hard to miss letters, a pack-a-day smoker was actually spending over 60 after tax dollars a week on the nasty little habit.  In my world, $60 is nothing to sneer at. To add to the initial shock,  I began to realize that most people I spotted smoking on the street, appeared to be pretty ordinary. They certainly did not look like they made any more money than I did.

Here comes the epiphany part.  I decided right then and there – if they can afford to smoke, then so can I.  The next day I went to my bank, opened a savings account and called it my Tobacco Fund.  I began saving up to smoke.

I decided I would not be a full blown ‘pack-a-day’ smoker.  Fifty dollars a week would be enough to keep my habit going.  Since that day, I have deposited $50 in my Tobacco Fund every week without fail.  It doesn’t matter how tight my budget is, I am irrevocably committed to my habit.

The best part is, even though I am saving up to smoke, I have absolutely no intention of ever again smoking.  All the money I save by not smoking, goes to whatever I want as long as it’s not rent, food or anything else considered essential.   My Tobacco Fund is in essence, my ‘mad’ money which when you think about it, is ironic since with all the knowledge about the ills of tobacco, one would have to be ‘mad’ to smoke.  Since opening the Fund four years ago, I have taken trips to London, Mexico and Cuba, bought a flat screen TV, and added to my wardrobe.  The Fund also pays for the upkeep of 4 rescued elephants in Africa, two donkeys in France and a manatee in Florida.  I plan to ‘adopt’ a parrot this year.  My Fund can be used for whatever my heart desires, as long as it’s not smoking.

In this world of financial advisors and a multitude of money saving schemes,  I highly recommend the consideration of a Tobacco Fund.  Or call it an Addiction Account and save for any number of addictions (no need for a list unless you’ve been living under a rock).  Not only will financial benefits be reaped, the gloat factor alone is a very strong incentive.  I cannot emphasize this enough.  Every week, I look forward to making that deposit.  It’s like having a secret; pulling one over on the smokers of the world, not to mention our tobacco-tax addicted government.  When I see one of my fellow citizens puffing away and realize how much money is being burned, I simply smile.