Picture this: October 7th, 72˚ and sunny, slight breeze, one of the last nice days before the brutal Midwestern winter takes hold. Before I head back into the office after lunch, I decide to collect my thoughts while leaning on the railing and looking out at the crystal brown waters of the Chicago River.
Over to my right, I notice three nice looking young professional men – probably in their late twenties or early thirties – who seem to be enjoying this setting as much as I am right now. As I’m watching one of the last sightseeing boats of the season cruise by, my peaceful afternoon is disrupted by a horrific sound. It’s the unmistakable sound of someone “hawking” and then spitting into the water.
I don’t turn to see where the sound came from, because I already know. Okay, maybe he has a cold. This behavior is still unacceptable, but I’ll excuse it just this once.
Then I hear laughter, more hawking from multiple sources, and more spitting.
All three of these grown men wearing important ID badges and dress pants and ties are spending the last ten minutes of their lunch hour watching each other spit over the railing. I try to ignore them and am fairly successful until I hear one of them say, “Dude! See if you can hit that duck!”
I look down and, to my horror, see an innocent tiny brown duck desperately paddling her way toward our side of the river. Turn back now, little duck! Turn back!
This is not possible. I cannot be standing next to three men who probably have MBA’s from fancy colleges and who earn $100k a year at their financial services company and who have important jobs where people call them boss and who are currently having a contest to see who can spit on a duck.
But alas, ‘tis true. I leave before they succeed in hitting their target, but not before shooting them all the dirtiest “What in god’s name is wrong with you pathetic losers?” look, as well as slipping them a minor Sicilian curse as I walk by. Their tongues should be swelling up. Right. About. Now.
This is an alarming trend – look around you – people are spitting at an unprecedented rate. And it’s now an equal opportunity filthy habit: I see men, women, children, grandparents – all spitting their way through the day.
What is wrong with these people? Either learn how to swallow, or get that post nasal drip problem looked at by an expert, pronto! You’re making me sick, people!
I’m only days away from calling in some favors and forming an anti-spitting vigilante street gang. You do not want to mess around with my homies. They catch you spitting and not only will they politely ask that you wipe it up with an anti-bacterial handiwipe which they will provide free of charge, but they will also give you a plastic bib that says, “I’m a big drooling baby. Spank me.” Wearing the bib is a totally voluntary thing, but you should see the look on people’s faces when we hand it to them. You can totally see that they feel ashamed right before they throw the bib on the ground and spit on it.
Okay, so I didn’t say that these were tough vigilantes, but cut me some slack. I’m a tap dancing cat owner from a small town in Wisconsin. Exactly what kind of favors did you think I could call in?

Filed under: General on October 8th, 2004