Last night as I was leaving Target, there was a man putting carts back at the front of the store. It wasn’t until he excused himself to pass by me that I realized he was wearing a suit and tie. I was pretty sure I had never seen any Target employees dressed in such a manner. Then I realized he was just a customer; someone actually trying to be responsible, to be socially conscious. Wow. How unusual? He didn’t just put his cart in the cart corral; he took it and another wayward cart all the way back to the store. At my bus stop, I noticed someone picking up a plastic bag lying on the grass. As he deposited it in the trash, I realized it was the same guy. So, was he just incredibly OCD or did he just have a very active social conscience? I was overwhelmed by a wave of guilt at my cavalier “someone else’s problem” attitude toward these sorts of things. I tried hard to be responsible for my trash, my cart, my effect on things, but I didn’t believe in making things better beyond that. I did my pathetic, paltry recycling effort. I took care of the millions of plastic bottles, bags, wrappers I used, but I almost never went further. This man did. He cared. He tried. Imagine if all of us did that? Can you even conceive of the change that could be brought about by the level of effort he was putting forth coming from each and every one of us? It boggles the mind. As we got on the bus, he put his bicycle on the front. Of course he rode a bike. I notice he was reading a very worn book, obviously used. My guilt stirred uncomfortably once more thinking of the brand new book in my bag. I bought used books, to be sure, but I never went to the library. I generally don’t buy new books due to the cost not the consequences. So much guilt about the things I could and should do. I spent the bus ride mulling on my guilt, wrestling with it. Then I spent twenty minutes in the heart of downtown in the dark night in the midst of the bustle, the people. People shoved as they passed, gave no ground. I had to dodge the waving arms of a man screaming that he was the second coming of Mohammad Ali. Cars roared passed honking and ignoring rules when possible, anything to get ahead of the next guy. As I approached the bus stop, the trash can there was overflowing with garbage. The sidewalk was littered with cigarette butts. A man walked down the street shouting convivially “Fuck you! Fuck you all!” and flipping us off. Here was my answer. The apathy was palpable. Society had so little care for itself that caring for it seemed ridiculous. The human race was doomed to drown in its own refuse. My hope for us had been crushed long ago. I hoped the man from the bus had OCD.