The Dumpster Event

A Mercedes pulled up to the curb. The driver stepped out. She wore tight, beige riding pants, a white shirt that tapered to her waist, and shiny black knee-high boots.

She walked to the back of her car, where she opened the trunk and pulled out a white bag that was bound at the top. Walking just as slowly as when she got out of her car, the woman carried the bag around the front of her car, onto the grass, across the sidewalk, and into a nearby parking lot.

There was a dumpster in that parking lot, and she walked toward it. When she got there, she opened its black plastic lid with her left hand and tossed the white bag in with her right.

Then she turned, walked back to her Mercedes by the curb and drove away.

I don't drive a Mercedes. I don't wear riding pants or black knee-high boots. But I've anonymously pitched a few bags into parking lot dumpsters in my day. And I know a few others who have, too. Ya do whatcha gotta do.

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