Yesterday, I was about to begin my run, when I saw a bevy of beer bottles rolling beneath a bench. I love Central Park and loathe littering anywhere, so often find myself, like this morning, picking it up.
As I was dumping them in a trash can, a woman came over and said, “What are you doing…are you crazy…touching those dirty bottles?”
Now in one glance I knew who she was…15 pounds overweight stuffed in pricy exercise togs draped in jewelry that shouldn’t be seen before noon, while nails, like stilettos, clutched her iPhone 7. She was an Upper Eastside princess alright…over fed, overdone, over concerned with something with origins that should concern her, but don’t.
“Don’t you love the park?” I said, determined to keep it cordial. “It’s awful to see it disrespected this way, don’t you agree?”
“Yes I do, but what about all those germs you now have all over you?”
“You know, I believe if you live in a place like New York, you can’t worry too much about that. You just wash your hands more often, that’s all.”
She was shocked by my response, staring at me like I had three heads.
“Well, I worry, and you should too.”
“Okay, but there’s a bottle behind you I’d like to grab, so could you move over a bit? Thanks.”
I left her on her phone telling Abbey, whoever the hell Abbey was, about the girl collecting bottles…
“and Abbey…she’s so thin.”