...Or, My Sunday Sermon
There were four exits to choose from, but as it was raining hard, I opted for the exit door nearest my destination, the University’s library. This meant passing through the laundry/barber’s room. As I recall, there were 3 or 4 washing machines and a couple of clothes dryers in the room and off to the side a barber’s chair. A barber came one evening per week to cut the hair of any of the religious order who placed their names on the signup sheet hanging nearby. The laundry/barbershop was solely for the use of the religious order who ate, slept, socialized and prepared for work and study on the four floors above the lower level that also contained a bank of University offices.
As I entered the room I saw an employee. He worked in the crowded Facilities Department offices on the north end of the building. My department was housed on the south end. He looked down at his hands which held a see-through ziplock closure plastic bag, and then, sheepishly up at me. He gave a half-smile and shrugged his shoulders. Inside the bag was about 8 ounces of powdered laundry detergent he had nicked from the religious order’s supplies. I sighed, shook my head and exited the building.
His name was… well, that’s irrelevant. He was an ebullient young gay man. The only reason I mention his sexual orientation was that I was certain that, due to his upbringing, it played a part in his arrested personal development. He’d the misfortune to be born to parents of an ultra-conservative Christian religion that especially frowned upon male homosexuality. His wealthy family put him through a “sexual orientation reversal” at a residential rehab. It didn’t achieve the result they’d hoped for and I felt, perhaps it had irrevocably harmed him.
When I saw him later, after the purloined detergent incident, I said, like a disapproving parent, “Don't ever let me see you do something like that again."
"But, but it was nothing, just a bit of the soap, which by the way, they buy tax-free uh, and, uh, and-and in bulk..."
His life was full of petty, sordid misdoings. He would find a McDonalds receipt on the ground, a receipt from a large order, and later enter the very same restaurant, present the receipt and indignantly claim that he’d been through the drive-thru earlier and been shorted on his order. On my birthday he presented me with a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers, that I later found he’d cut from somewhere on the University’s grounds.
I continued my discourse, “Listen, you may think that something like this detergent incident is small and will have no impact. But it does. It makes an impact on your integrity. Each act creates a tiny chink or fissure in your essence. And it adds up until your soul is pockmarked, weak and homely. Don’t let this sort of petty thievery be your purpose. You are so better than this."
***
I thought about the above incident recently when talking with several neighbors about the seemingly rampant petty cheating that goes on here in Beautiful Privatopia. For instance, golf is free for dues-paying residents, yet a waterfront homeowner, in the healing business of medicine, for years allowed his non-resident/non-member, fully-employed adult son to “borrow” his golf privileges. “Well, my son loves golf and I don’t golf at all, so why shouldn’t I?” Or, consider the many who “sneak” guests onto the golf course. Or, people who get caught every year not paying the fee for each automobile registered at Privatopia, instead placing a “free” visitors pass in the windshield. Or, those who go to the “all you can eat buffet” and stuff food in their bags to bring home. Visiting family members and guests who ask their young children to lie about their age to get the discounted price at the swimming pool. And I’ll just bet there is someone, who after leaving church services on this (as I write) "blessed-holy" Easter Day, will attend Privatopia’s special Easter brunch and lie about the ages of children- just to save a few bucks.
And like my co-worker they have somehow reasoned it out. “Well, that 'non-motorized watercraft’ fee is ridiculous. I’m not paying it." "Let them catch me.” “Why should I be the only one?” “Ef ‘um! They charge too much.” Most of them would never dream of taking something from an individual, yet ‘cheating’ an organization is somehow justified. They don't see that as they steal from the community they are also taking from themselves, and not just in the form of higher fees and dues.
Cautious Husband says, “You and your blog are going to get us kicked out of Beautiful Privatopia.” He’s kidding. -I think? “Aw, no one from here reads it," I reply -I think? At least no one from Privatopia has ever said, 'Hey, I read your stupid well-intended blog…' ” and at least someone would have said that by now, right? Anyway, I don’t mean to give the notion that the majority of Privatopians are somehow less than honest. I believe if one were to ‘run the numbers,’ the percentages would coincide with dishonesty figures everywhere in the world, from the onset of humanity. And I happen to personally know a few of the schmucks more honest individuals out here who, like me, try to follow the rules to a "t" -so I know they exist.)
As Spring appears with her burgeoning promise of a fresh start, let’s consider becoming acquainted with the slow compounding effect, that consistently doing “the right thing,” has on producing a strong, healthy and comely essence.
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| a wholly unholy soul, or weakened diseased tissue or, porous rock? I can't tell |
