Litter-picking Lout

 

A week or so ago, I joined a small litter-picking team from our church.

Litter-picking is such a simple and rewarding way to do good in the community – or so we thought.

Near the busy local shops, we began to collect up discarded food wrappers and cigarette butts.

On a bench sat a tall woman, restraining two dogs on leashes while talking loudly into her phone.  Beside her was her can of beer.  As we scooped up crisp packets, her conversation continued at full volume, until finally it seemed that the other person was approaching and the woman stood to go and meet them.

She left her beer can on the bench.

I tutted and went to put it in Gavin’s collecting bag. 

‘Wait.  Hasn’t that still got beer in it?  She might come back.’

But I was impatient.  ‘She’s gone.  I’ll just empty it into the flower bed.’

There was actually rather a lot of beer in there.  Perhaps Gavin had a point.  Too late now.

It was only seconds after I had put the can in Gavin’s bag that we heard the now-familiar loud voice. ‘Hey – who’s had my beer?’

We looked guiltily at the collection bag, only to note that it was, in fact, transparent.  If the woman with the dogs wanted to take umbrage, it was very clear who had stolen her beer.

Rapidly, we shifted our litter picking activities round the corner.

So as a direct result of our do-gooding, it’s possible that members of our church are now known in the community as a bunch of thieves who would do anything for a can of beer.

Photo by Rasa Kasparaviciene on Unsplash