Look, I am all for being passionate. To have something you believe in and the effort to share it with others is a very courageous endeavor. I don't care if it's your faith, your shampoo, your favorite recipe, or yourself when you were up for "most popular" in high school, I truly think that if you believe in it, then you should shout it from the rooftops.
I mean, done and done right?
"I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!"
Could this be more clear?
"Say no to drugs."
Very, very clear. In fact, we've established programs after this.
So please, shout out all you want. But can we talk about this? Can we try and be consistent with our policies? For example, if Aretha demanded a bit of respect and then punched someone and called them a "loser" then I might question her motives. Or if the ten year old who screamed for ice cream opted for a glass of lemonade, then well I would tell him that he should get his snacks straight. Or even, Mr. D.A.R.E. was caught smokin' the hash, I might wonder where he drew the line for "drugs".
You showed me.
On the street.
As you blocked my way and would not let me get away. You showed me those photos up in Pasadena, and once was enough. I don't want to see them anymore. I don't want to see you at Albertsons, because when I tell you that I have already heard the pitch and that I have done all that I can, you don't believe me. You actually question my honesty. It's offensive. Because if you don't beleive me, then how do you know that I am not lying to you when I "listen?" How do you know that I am not preparing a banana cream pie to shove in your face at the perfect moment when you are pitching your story to me? I mean, if you think I am lying, then why ask?
I especially do not want to see you outside of Trader Joes. Because I watched you follow that poor old woman to her car and I watched you watch her put groceries in her car and you did not offer to help her. In fact, you just grilled her on why she would not donate.
But today, you really went overboard with your tactics. I confess, as I headed out of Trader Joes and I saw you with your clipboards with photos of Texan-sized-trash, I picked up my phone and called my mom. I did it so that I would not have to talk to you. I'm sorry. But I knew that no matter how much I explained to you my thoughts, you would tell me that I was lying through the asking of your questions. So I confess, I hid and I looked down, and you yelled to me, "Hey lady! Call waiting on line 2! It's the EARTH!"
I may be more apt to listen to you, but I do not get your inconsistency. You give me no peace to hear your story.
8 years ago