Button it

I’m not always clear about when to speak up and when not to.  Last month when I saw those two fools down by the Post Office spewing hateful talk about the President to a captive audience of middle-schoolers of all things, my vision literally darkened to scarlet.  And when they spoke to me and pointed to their picture of Obama as Hitler I lost it completely and uttered the crass two-syllable word for malarkey that I would never normally use around children.

I waded in where I didn’t belong maybe.  But then yesterday at the Post Office I ran into a woman who  did that in spades. I was coming from Starbucks with my fistful of coffee and she was standing with the tiny leashed dog that was hers and face like a jar of pickles.

“Is this your car?” she demanded of me.

“Ah, nope,” I said.

“Because there’s a DOG in this car with the windows all closed on this hot day! I’m calling the police!” 

It was 66 degrees; I know this because I check the temperature on my phone like every five seconds.

I took a quick peek inside the car and saw a nice big dog smiling and licking the inside of the back window and the entirely un-melted ice inside a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. It seemed pretty clear to me the driver had just ducked into the P.O. for a second.

 “I’m calling the police right now!” the woman said again but I was already edging away from her to see to my own errands.

When I came back there she still was with her aggressive wide-legged stance, ready to pounce on the approaching dog owner who had sure enough been in the Post Office.  Maybe I should have gone over and stuck up for him or told his accuser to mind her own business.

I didn’t though. I just watched from a distance while the poor guy came trotting along in high spirits and 20 seconds later was pulling away from the curb looking utterly cast down. 

I swear if I’d had a Sharpie on me I’d have drawn a quick Hitler mustache on that lady AND  her silly small dog, then high-tailed it on out of there fast.