Monthly Archives: August 2026

Postcards

Upclycling …

After being gone all week for a business trip, I logged a half-day of work last Friday, which left only the afternoon and evening for errand-running before flying out early the next morning with Karry for a few getaway days. I had a gajillion things to do and space for just a few of them to get done.

Picked up a couple prescriptions at the pharmacy, popped into Auto Zone for a lo-beam replacement for my car, and stopped by Triple A for some maps. In between I made a run to the landfill to drop off some recycling. Our township doesn’t have a recycling program, and I didn’t want it piling up while we were away. 

The dropoff is about 15 minutes out of town. I followed a pickup truck into the landfill’s complex. The entrance is about a quarter mile straightaway before you right turn to climb a hill to where the big recycling bins are. Speed limit’s only 15 mph, as there are always garbage trucks coming and going. 

Towards the end of the straightaway, I noticed the pick-up truck slowed to a stop for no reason. There weren’t any cars in front of him or anything. I was paying attention and had ample time to stop, though I found it odd. It was like the way people will slow down if the car behind them is following too close. 

I’ll be honest, I didn’t think much of it. 

The truck made the right up the hill, and I followed. The recycling bins sit immediately on the left, next to the company’s office building. There are two big green bins, with room for cars to park in front of each. Beyond the building, if you keep going, there’s a big shed that always has big machinery and trucks around it. 

At the top of the hill, I went to make the immediate left into the first parking spot … when I noticed the pickup truck had stopped and started backing up. He didn’t use any turn signal or anything, not that I would expect someone to, since we weren’t on a main road or anything. 

Only when I saw him backing up did I pick up on the fact he was planning to pull in to the far left slot where I was already pulling in.

It was as if I sneaked in behind him. 

When he saw me do that, he stopped, pulled forward, and then turned his truck so he could take the far right spot. 

Immediately I was mortified, realizing I took the spot he was planning to back in to. 

I was out of my car by the time he backed in and already formulating my apology.

He didn’t give me the chance. 

He was cursing me before he made it to the back of his pickup truck. 

He was a big, bearded, ball-capped fella. 

Addressed me as an a-hole for tailgating him the whole way in and cutting in front of him. Asked me if I was asking for an ass-kicking for doing so. 

Decorated his vitriol with an avalanche of eff bombs.  

I apologized. Confessed that I didn’t expect him to back up, and that I realize I should have waited for him. Told him it was not my intention to cut behind him.

He was having none of my b.s. 

Got in a robust cardio workout exercising his adult vocabulary in ripping me a new one, or at least, you know, a recycled one. 

I have to say, even though he was calling me names and threatening retaliation, he did not intimidate me. His reaction was not upsetting to me. 

I was just deeply sorry. 

I knew I had made a mistake. I was probably distracted by all the things I didn’t have time to get done. I tried to let him know that it was not my intention to tailgate him. I apologized a couple times more while he spewed. 

Really, I just wanted to let him know that my stupid actions were not worth getting upset over. 

He was past a point of no return, though. 

Things quieted for a moment as we both emptied our recycling into our respective bins, me into the left one, he into the right. 

Protocol is to empty the contents of garbage bags into the bins, and then toss the bags into separate cans lined up on the side of the building. 

After emptying a big black garbage bag, I started to cross over to where the garbage cans were.

The guy sees me coming towards him and yells, “Don’t you f*cking get near my truck.” 

“Just throwing a bag away, sir,” I said, calmly. 

He was quiet for a couple seconds. I think he may have begun to notice that I was not interested in escalating things. 

But I also knew he was looking for any excuse to escalate things. 

“I’m happy to let you finish,” I said, and backed up a couple steps. 

“Yeah, you let me f*cking finish,” he said. 

In my head I so wanted to break the fourth wall and say, “Come on dude, we’re just a couple guys dropping off recycling. I may have done a stupid thing that upset you, but, trust me, I am not your enemy.” 

But I didn’t say it. 

Call it a hunch … but something told me that reminding him that we were both on Team Mother Nature would have only made things worse. 

I fully admit that I would’ve been jacked at me if I were driving his pickup. Though, if I was backing in my truck knowing someone was behind me, I probably would have taken the spot on the far right. 

And used my turn signal. 

But I realize I’m separating cardboard and plastic here.

I knew the best course of action was to stay quiet, let him be upset and hopefully get on with his day.

He got back into his truck and pulled back down the hill. I watched him make the left onto the straightaway that leads back to the main road.

After I tossed my empty bags,  I made sure to observe the speed limit on my way from the landfill to the rest of my gajillion things. 

I didn’t feel the sick feeling in my stomach I typically feel when experiencing people yelling at each other. I just felt bad that my actions contributed to someone getting angry at the world. 

I prayed that the person wouldn’t take it out on the rest of his day.

And while I know I’m incapable of ‘fixing’ things on that front, I felt compelled to re-balance the scales a little. 

This is me reminding myself that we always get to choose our response.

We get to choose when someone follows too close and takes our spot … or when a stranger goes off on us for taking theirs.  

Saturday morning while Karry and I were waiting to board our plane at the airport, having left a gajillion things undone, I took a few minutes and wrote the note below. We got back late last night. This afternoon I printed off a couple copies to stuff into envelopes. I handed one to Michelle, a kind waitress at Eat n’ Park who knows from making people’s days a little bit better. I asked her to find a customer who might appreciate a little light. Wrote Michelle’s name on the other one and left it on my table.

Dear lovely human,                                                                                                                                                         

Earlier today, I upset a stranger with my driving. 

I honestly didn’t mean to, I just made a mistake. 

There was no accident or anything, but the stranger got really angry at me. Called me names, swore at me, and asked me if I was trying to get my ass kicked.

 I told him it was totally my mistake, and I apologized. Multiple times. 

He was too angry to be interested in forgiving me, which I understand. He drove away just as mad at the world as he was at me. 

I wasn’t upset by his anger. I just felt bad that my actions contributed to a bad part of his day. 

While I know I can’t fix that stranger’s bad mood, I thought maybe I can at least make another stranger’s day a little better.

So I just wanted to remind you that sometimes we are unintentional catalysts for a person’s bad day. 

But we can also try to be intentional catalysts for someone’s good day, too. 

I also wanted to let you know that, even though we’ve not met, that I’m praying for you. 

Specifically, that if you ever make a mistake that upsets a stranger, that the other party offers you a bit of the grace you deserve. 

And conversely, if a stranger ever does something that upsets you, I’m praying for you for the patience of a few deep breaths to soften the harder edges of your anger into a bit more grace than maybe the other person deserves. 

Sometimes the best I can say for this broken world is that it sure gives us a lot of chances to participate in the flow of grace. If we’re lucky enough to live a full life, we find ourselves at either end at some point. 

So … in the spirit of all of the above, your visit’s on me. 

You and your day deserve it … and so much more. 

As long as you promise to remember that not all bad drivers are a-holes. 

At least not all of the time (ha).

Upcycling,

Pete 

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Excursions, Postcards

Using my words …

Was just about to take Thursday’s first sip at the coffee shop when a severe weather event rolled in to my right. 

“Tell your Dad what you want! We came here for breakfast!”

Enters, yelling.  

I turned and saw a young mother standing in the archway that splits the coffee shop’s seating area from the bakery where you place your order.

I couldn’t see the child. 

Only hear him. 

Wailing. 

In full froth.

Though decades removed from the child-meltdown days, I still fancy myself a bit of a connoisseur.

I try not to stare, but I can’t help myself. 

It’s like rubbing a hand over old scars tied to humbling stories.

I’m drawn by empathy, not schadenfreude. 

Mostly. 

It’s the kind of thing that can only be appreciated at a distance. 

The kid was producing these long, drawn-out whines — persistent and consistent — at impressive decibels. 

Without optics, I put it at about a category 4 meltdown. 

Likely not a microburst, based on context clues.

The store had just opened. They had just arrived. 

And mom’s patience tank was already on empty. She wasn’t even feigning appeasement. 

She was dead-ass yelling at her child from another room.

“Use your words!” she barked back towards him.

If I was a tornado hunter, I’da been buckling my seat belt and double checking I had back-up batteries for my camera. 

That both of them had already completely abandoned any sense of their surroundings suggested that the meltdown had begun well before their arrival. 

And also that the wailing child may have come by his gifts … honestly. 

Regardless, it was clear the situation had been brewing for as long as Thursday’s dark roast of the day. 

“We are never coming back here unless you stop!” 

Ooh, I thought. Seemed a bit premature to play the “We’re never doing this again!” card.

Few chess moves left on the board after that one. Pretty much just the nuclear options.  

A child in meltdown is among the most humbling things in the universe.

Second only to trying to get the goddamn wheels on a Pinewood Derby car to go straight, at least in my experience. 

The harder you try, the worse you make it. 

I mean, here was a mother — otherwise the most powerful being in all the universe — letting herself get drawn in to her child’s energy. She’d completely lost her footing in rationality. 

Might as well have been yelling at the rain. 

After her “Nevermore” threat, she executed an exquisite “I’m-done-with-it” 180 (9.8 from the judges), and took a seat by herself at a round table near the front of the room. 

Signifying that this was now Dad’s problem. 

Also known as “tappin’ in the B team.”

Poor motherf*cker, I thought. 

Minute later Dad comes in carrying their order with their son trailing behind him … still wailing. 

He promptly engaged “controlled burn” protocols. 

Gently placed his wife’s order in front of her — like a zookeeper feeding an alligator — and then sat down at an adjacent table, giving Mom’s magma some space to cool while limbering up for his shot at quelling the hellion.

I’m bad at ages but I pegged the kid between three and four.

At the ripe age when one recognizes one’s agency and power to make themselves seen and heard in the world. 

“Hang on to that kid,” I thought in my head.

“Hold my sippy cup,” he replied telepathically, as he refused Dad’s overture to join him and defiantly took a seat at one of the tables in the coffee shop’s window. 

Where he immediately began kicking his legs as if he was on a swing, percussively thumping his heels against the window. 

It was glorious. 

Like watching Da Vinci painting the Mona Lisa of meltdowns.  

Took dad all of four thumps to stand up, walk over to the window and grab the child by the hand. 

Exits, wailing. 

They left the building for some air, and to give mom some visual separation, even if her peace was completely out of the question by this point. 

A brick alley runs alongside the coffee shop. I think that’s where they went. 

I could still hear the boy yelling from a distance.

Sounded like the coyotes that screech in the cemetery at night. 

Meanwhile Mom silently nibbled at her muffin while scrolling her phone. 

Boys were gone for a couple minutes, during which I patched together a backstory in my head. 

I surmised the parents had planned a summer day off. Had thoughtfully put together a day of adventure — maybe a trip to the city — starting with a rare weekday breakfast outing at Mom’s favorite place.  

They were likely on a schedule. Perhaps had to leave the house at a certain time, which didn’t align with the kid’s morning agenda. Probably wasn’t a long drive to the coffee shop, just enough for the child to find a cadence for his displeasure, whereupon he set his pace for distance and duration. 

I finished my cortado and returned my cup to the counter, ordering one for the road. 

Stepping outside, I saw Dad hoisting the child off the ground while standing next to an SUV with the back door open. 

He wore the exasperated look of someone trying to figure out the geometry of how to fit a big Ikea box into the back seat’s un-rectilinear opening … if the box had legs and was simultaneously pushing in the opposite direction.  

Mom was silently seething on the sidewalk, holding a paper bag with the vestiges of their breakfast that she’d likely toss in the garbage as soon as she got home.

They had reached the inevitable conclusion that sooner or later comes for all parents with best laid plans: time to cut losses and abort the mission. 

AKA the nuclear option. 

But then, I witnessed the most glorious thing. 

In the midst of trying to stuff his uncooperative child into the backseat, Dad caught sight of the coffee shop’s sidewalk tables.

I actually saw the spark catch his eyes and wrinkle his forehead. 

“Or,” he said to his wife, “We could just sit outside?”

This was everything to me. 

Despite the fact that he was overmatched, outwitted, and soundly defeated by a three-year-old and a morning that could not have gone more to shit, there remained inside him a flickering spark that believed, “This is still salvageable.”

It wasn’t, but that was beside the point. 

“Hang on to that Dad,” I thought in my head.

Made me appreciate just how quickly the days of the never-ending meltdowns … eventually do end. 

I genuinely wanted to hug him. 

But not enough to risk getting mule-kicked by the spawn of Satan he was trying to wedge into the car like an uncooperative Lagkapten ($79 from Ikea, ICYI).   

The polite thing to do would have been for me to just put my head down and cross the street. 

Instead, I waited patiently for the kid to take a breath. 

And then I took Mom’s advice. 

I used my words. 

“Excuse me,” I said sheepishly. 

All three turned to look at me. 

“Um, I know the time is not now …” I began. 

“But I promise you that there will come a time … when you will miss even this.

“That time is not now,” I quickly repeated. “But I promise you.”

Holding his tear-drenched kid by his armpits two feet off the ground, Dad threw his head back and laughed. 

Mom, meanwhile, closed her eyes and allowed herself a self-effacing chuckle, the first slow step to remembering that she was, in fact, the most powerful being in the Universe.

Their smiles made all my scars tingle. 

“God bless you guys,” I said, raising my to-go cup. 

It’s the kind of thing that can only be truly appreciated at a distance. 

Exits, remembering.

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