Homey Do -NOT- Play That

I live in a building inhabited by a plethora of privileged kids. Straight out of school and outfitted in all things Tory Burch, Burberry, Louis Vuitton, and Chloe, each of their outfits is worth more than I make in a month.  Honestly, they probably spend more in monthly salon services than I bring home.  Anyway, many have concerned and doting parents who cover their rent, which is higher than most mortgages in this country.  It's the price tag for parental peace to know that their freshly bachelor-degreed child lives in a secure building in big, scary New York.  I understand that.  But I think it's a disservice to their children.

When I picked up my mail this evening, I spotted this small yellow envelope, torn open, crumpled, and cast aside along the shallow ledge that borders the building's mailboxes. There are over thirty floors in this building which means who knows how many units and residents there are - but of all those people that checked their mailbox today, 9C was the only one who managed to leave her trash behind.  (I don't know why I assume it's a girl, but I'm just gonna go with it.)

Well.

I picked up 9C's empty envelope and tossed it on top of my own mail.  I went straight to my apartment to tidy up a bit (Soeur's man friend comes over on Fridays and the only courteous thing to do is try to empty the trash and clean my hair off the floor -people are constantly shocked to see just how much hair I shed and are amazed I'm not balding).  That took quite a bit of time.  I had dinner.  That took quite a bit of time, too.  I then picked up the offending envelope and found my way over to 9C.  It landed with an airy thud against her door before falling to the hallway floor.  And there I left it.

With any luck, 9C will see it and remember it.  But in all reality, the porter will probably see it on his nightly rounds of emptying the trash rooms and dispose of it before 9C stumbles in from a night of pre-St. Paddy's day drinking.

And there you have it, the very privileged disservice that mommy and daddy's rent money offers their child: she will never have to pick up after herself because someone else always will.  Privilege sure is a bitch, ain't it?  Next time, I'll be taping that envelope to her door along with a note:

Please learn to pick up after yourself.  Your trash is not your neighbor's responsibility.