Recently, when driving into work, I saw a front-end loader moving trash to a dumpster. As I drove by, I saw two police officers watching the process and I realized that the pile of trash was someone’s camp. I drove on.
Two blocks later I turned around, determined to voice my disapproval. One of the officers talked to me, the other just listened. I asked if this was what it appeared to be. He said yes. I said I thought it was a dumb thing to do. He said he disagreed and that I was talking to the wrong people, that I should be talking to the people who make the decisions. I said that whatever the city was paying them was not nearly enough, because they should be ashamed of themselves. He said I should be ashamed. I responded that I was ashamed. At this point I was yelling. “I am expletive ashamed of this.” I walked away. To their credit, both officers kept their cool. It was only me that was yelling and cursing.
As I continued my drive, I slowly realized that although I am ashamed of how my city has responded to our national problem of many citizens not having a home, I am mainly ashamed that I have done nothing to help fix the problem. I am also ashamed that I took my anger at myself out on two people who were doing their job; a job that requires them to risk life and limb for my family’s safety and peace of mind, and a job that also requires them to calmly tolerate enraged loons. We don’t pay them nearly enough.
David Carrier, Salt Lake City