few months ago, in a van headed for San Martin, a lady sitting next to me asked for the stop, got up and her daughter, who was sitting in another room, built a hundred bill that was beside me . He hesitated a bit, wondering if it was your mother or someone else. I noting its doubts, he said, is mine, and the girl handed it to me.
knew that this bill was not mine, but did not know if that same ticket was for the lady. Who guarantees that you are not a passenger had fallen before she went up and that it was stuck with my leg until the girl you saw? My first thought was to find out, do a full survey that showed me the undisputed property of the ticket. Then I thought: "neither you nor I give out." It was obviously impossible, the driver was with the engine running and ready to move forward. Then there intervened the kind of rancor, the envy, the desire to not see me as an asshole. so I lied. "Is mine" I said and let it go down behind the lady, who walked with steps cortitos and very rushed. I still check the mock my pockets still guarding the rest of my money while the girl stayed on the sidewalk, staring, wondering, and clinging to the apron of his mother.
A block later I went down, trying to justify that mental compliments random robbery. Soon after I reached a guy who was running. Immediately I realized that was the good Samaritan who offered to reach the thief and ask him politely to return the money he knew was not his, since the lady had that capital expenditures for the week. There was no objection, so I returned the ticket muttering an apology and went on my way, deeply relieved and confident that this money had actually come from the pockets of her apron.
But at the same time was very uncomfortable with myself, thinking that my role had been discouraged from abuse. But then do or say anything that would vindicate me, so I sped up and reached the bus terminal, trying to get lost among dozens of passengers unknown surely come also mulling a scheme that would have happened in the course of morning. We are accustomed to doubt
everything. This dynamic of life that we have been subjecting the media, the people from politics, the same parents and the guys who insist to make Mexican truth dictates that maxim: He who does not advance tranza, and if for the stomach but passes you spear.
We are no longer reliable. We are already marked to be badass or congenitally fuck, not average, not to channel a little kindness and respect and good intentions, without feeling that we are seeing the face of assholes.
How will that do to reverse this process?
0 comments:
Post a Comment