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The psychology of litter…

I’m no rocket scientist. Those of you who are regular attendees at this site already knew that.

I’m no shrink either. So it is I’m left to wonder what goes through the minds of idiots who defile our curbs and walkways with their carelessness.

But even a laggard like me already knows that answer: nothing. How can there be? Only a true professional would be able to diagnose the impairment that effectively says ‘It’s okay for me to toss this out my car window.’ What the hell?

You gotta help me understand what goes through the minds of idiots who would flick this junk aside. My guess of what they think about: no much.

You gotta help me understand what goes through the minds of idiots who would flick this junk aside. My guess of what they think about: not much.

So by my definition – such people are irresponsibly crazy – there must’ve been a lot of impaired people driving about last night. This morning’s haul was another bag-buster. Literally, I ended up carrying or tucking under my arms debris (how does a huge chunk of a car’s plastic undercarriage end up on a sidewalk?) that would no longer fit in the jammed full Harris Teeter bag.

I’ll leave it to psychologists to answer the question of what qualifies as psychosis when it comes to discarding plastic and polystyrene and fast food junk. Unlike the professional description psychologists might attach to these morons, my wording for the mental infirmities of slobs won’t be so genteel.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

1 Comment on The psychology of litter…

  1. Dave the manufacturers provide the opportunity to litter to promote their products

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