So I’m writing this from vacation. We’re in Maui celebrating my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. Which is nice and lovely and warm and beautiful. We’ve spent a lot of time at the beach, at the pool, snorkeling, swimming, eating.
Good stuff.
However, this trip has also served to remind me that we, as in humanity, are a bunch of asswipes.
I think of this whenever I’m around tourists. Watching them (us) overload our plates with food we wind up throwing out. Watching us fall for scams all in the name of being gifted with a “free” resort tote bag. Watching us invade a generally tranquil people and leave all our wrappers and bottles behind to be picked up by the locals.
This week, in particular, what’s killing me are the towels.
So we’re staying at a place where there’s a big-ass pool, surrounded by a couple hundred chairs. They’re hard to come by if you arrive past, oh, 9 am, so what people do is this: At 5 in the morning they drape their towels over X number of chairs, then return to sleep. In other words, they mark their territory so no one else can take it. I’ve talked to staffers about the practice, and it drives them to drink. A. Because it’s annoying. But, B. Because it’s pure selfish bullshit.
What makes you any more important than the other family? Why is it proper for you to claim a chair as your own—hours before using it?
This stuff … truly … argh. I bite my tongue, try and move forward.
But it’s an indictment of humanity.
