Trash. It’s everywhere I look. Sure there is the cliché that one man’s garbage is another’s treasure, but I can assure you that I will not be the one to salvage the crap that is in my way as I try to negotiate a place to put out my cigar. Clearly the few sand traps provided outside in the upper levels of the HSS are for ash, cigarette butts and cigars.

Everything has its place. Usually it is defined in bold letters either beneath the “cubbyhole” meant for the backpacks of elementary students or on the side of the recycling bin, large and in charge of our environmental well being, destined to be filled with plastic. To put something out of its place is often viewed negatively as order is left. Partly because of “The Dark Knight” and Heath Ledger’s splendid acting, people seem infatuated with chaos. Of course there are esoteric lessons to be learned from such, but to think that the people who place trash in the ashtrays are subtly protesting smoking is absurd!

Trash is meant to be in a trash-can; recyclables, in the recycling bin; and I’m sure you can guess where cigarettes go. Well most of them go towards emphysema, but the rest is to be put out and placed in the nearest receptacle for ash, one that is preferably void of candy bar wrappers and wadded up paper.            

Enough harsh smoke has fumigated my lungs. I need not inhale any more toxic fumes than I already have.

Organization draws on distinction as morality may be based on intuition. Intuition to take you the few extra steps towards returning your shopping cart while crafting a distinction between the cart return and the empty parking spot to your left. You have both of these gifts, which are usually inherent in the human condition. Work with me to put things in the right place, and I’m sure we’ll improve the future, which is now.