I see the highway sign
about every time I get on
the car-flooded 405.
It's a government sign
with orange lights set against a black
background--technology that looks it came straight out of the 1950's and has not changed one watt since.
One message stuck with me:
"The cure for litter starts with you."
I found myself wondering who was in charge of this environmental scolding. Was it a middle-aged overweight man behind the desk of some obscure office inside some immense government building?
Or was it some kid fresh out of college who was given the first-rank responsibility of writing prose to commuters who would never truly appreciate his time and noble efforts.
Then my mind pondered on the message itself.
I am the cure to all litter?
I wish that was the case, Mr. Sign Author.
My trash about 95% of the time ends up in the proper place, and yet I still see Big Gulp cups on medians, cigarette butts on street shoulders, and random newspapers and other assorted trash dashing across the road in the wind like a person caught in the nude and seeking cover.
No, the message should read: "The cure for litter starts with the collective whole."
But we know where that leaves us of course.
One bird follows the flock because the folk is all that matters and individual action goes nowhere.
So I acknowledge that the kid did the best he could.
And now someone in front of me throwing a wad of gum outside.