Ah yes...the first week of spring

Naturally, the meteorologists in the area had been calling for an eighty percent chance of precipitation over the next two days. Such is the first week of spring in the Ohio Valley. Fortunately, we seemed to be, at least for the time being, out of the stage where you still had to scrape your windows, so the idea that it rained all night long failed to affect me, however, along with the drizzle that greeted me was a special little treat on the hood of my car. A coke can.

When I first saw the pop can, with thin grey rivulets steaming down the front of my car, betraying its second life as an ashtray, I was slightly amused. On mornings much like this, I wind up stopping at the end of the street leading into the complex and setting one of the previous days' pop cans out, so I can not only enjoy my tasty beverage, but so the other can can fulfill its destiny as my ashtray for the next twenty-four hours. Don't ask me how I wound up with a car with no ashtray.

Yep, I know what you may be thinking. What a prick, littering like that. So what? What everyone else calls littering, I call providing a valuable side income for the homeless population in southern Indiana, industrious scouts, or people slightly more proactive in their environmentalism that it apparently doesn't faze them to wander around in the rain like an absolute dolt. I probably recycle 96% of the aluminum cans I use, so it's not as though I cruise aimlessly through the streets, showering the bi-state area with all the garbage in my car. I just employ the other side of the fence on occasion, depending on weather.

I know a member of the maintenance crew at the apartment complex was not to blame, so it boiled down to some busybody schmuck picking up the can, waiting for me to return from work and any other number of misadventures or mundane daily functions of life I go through in the course of my day so they can wait until cover of nightfall and rain to place the can on my car, in some quarter-assed attempt at being clever. Sounds to me like someone has seen way too many Truth commercials. Someone should really let the person know that unlike Truth commercials, the end result would not be the most lop-sided red-ass beatdown of your presumably adult life, along with a vandalism charge, should I ever catch the low forehead trying his (or her) hand at prop comedy. I'll even bet the little son (or daughter) of a bitch is overly concerned at how Tyson treats chicken in its production plants, too. Like anyone really gives a damn, just as long as they didn't do anything toxic or sexual to the chicken, then shut up and pass the drumsticks. People who want omelets but protest the treatment of the eggs are generally of less than no consequence to me.

With that spirit in mind, I jumped in the car, ready to tackle, or in all likelihood, be tackled by the world-at-large from the moderate comfort of my bullshit cubicle. Of course, I had done nothing with the can, so inertia eventually took over, sliding the can off the hood and back into the parking lot. I mean, fucking seriously, did the person involved believe way down in their heart of hearts that I would stop what I was doing, take the pop can and toss it in the dumpster, a mere twenty, maybe twenty-five feet from where I was parked, palmface myself and vow to turn over a new leaf over their "witty" little statement? The can still wound up on the ground, so was the energy and effort worth it all in the end? Nice epic fail, Douchebag.