Humble Thyself

Yesterday around 4:15, I picked up my CWJC merea, D, from her janitorial job at Vanderbilt. She hopped in the car, and I started driving toward Hillsboro. We were on our way to The Dog of Nashville, a gourmet hot dog restaurant off Belcourt. As we approached a gas station on our left, I commented about how high the gas prices are around here, and wondered if they would ever go back down. She chimed in agreeably, "I know. I used to be able to make a phone call at a pay phone for 25 cents, and it's gone up to 50 cents now."

Ouch. I am complaining about the affordability of gas to a person who has no car, no cell phone, no cable television, and barely makes ends meet. I am complaining to a person who takes the city bus and who walks miles to get from place to place. I am complaining to a person that never has access to the convenience of a phone ringing in her purse, and who struggles to locate pay phones, as they're becoming more scarce these days. I am complaining to a person who works weekends and cleans up after the messes that others make.

Cut yourself a big ol' slice of humble pie, Mary Anna.