I read the Metro every morning on my way to work, though it’s biased, limited and full of errors.  It’s free; they literally put it into your hands each morning.

I finish the paper somewhere around Park Street and get off the train at South Station.  I, along with everyone else, would dispose of it by throwing it in the trash.  Surprisingly, South Station had no recycling bins — until a few days ago.

A new recycling bin was added next to my default trash can.  Perfect!  I started throwing my newspaper in the bin, along with everyone else.

Yesterday, however, I didn’t recycle it.  I didn’t even realize I forgot to recycle it — it was early, I hadn’t slept much over the past few nights, and I was pretty out of it.  Out of habit, I must have thrown it in the trash can by mistake.

How do I know this?

Because as soon as I got to the top of the stairs, a middle-aged guy turned to me, gave me a dirty look and said, “Try recycling the paper.”

Are you kidding me?!

What a jackass!

Yes, I forgot to recycle my paper yesterday.  It was an honest mistake.

But let me tell you something — that guy has no idea that I am environmentalist who no longer eats meat, who rarely drives, who is planning to buy a hybrid if she can ever afford a new car, who adopted a manatee back when newspapers had to clarify that it was “an endangered marine animal,” and who participated in her first environmental protest at the age of six!

And who the hell does he think he is?  Does he go around yelling at people?  He waited until we got ALL THE WAY UP THE STAIRS before he said something to me!  He had time to think it over!

I said nothing back.  I was too shocked.  (My friends say I should have yelled back at him.)

Okay, guy.  Thanks to your overt rudeness, I will make sure that I never zone out in the morning and accidentally throw my paper in the trash again.

I just hope you know that your attitude is far more poisonous than the environmental damage I could ever cause.