You say you want to go for a spin

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The lanes at every cash were packed. This is certainly no more than I deserve, Robert thought to himself as he desperately searched lane after lane for one that contained any slight advantage to the one he was already in. His eyes paused at the self-checkout lanes beside lane 1 and thought about the advantages of demonstrating his independence and competency, but decided against it. He didn't like the tone of the machine telling him to "Please Place Items in the Bag".

So he stood there, and as is inevitable to anyone in a supermarket line-up (he imagined), he glanced at a few tabloid headlines: "Britney's Visitation a Disaster", "TomKat Aiming for a Second", "Mary Kate's Cry for Help". I'm the one crying for help, he joked to himself miserably, which did comfort him a little but the feeling was too ephemeral to be of any real help. He dissected the word Disaster in his mind. Di-saster Disas-ter Dis-aster Disast-er. He mused over how a tabloid headline could make any word look aesthetically pleasing. An old lady is finished loading up her bags, and Robert took a careful step forward, savouring it because he knew another one wouldn't be coming for a while.

The man who was on deck but is now the batter, who was also obviously a father as well as a professional baseball shopper (the mysterious tenth position that is never mentioned), loaded up the conveyor belt with various diaper packages and foodstuffs. Robert let his mind wander again as a wellspring of misery threatened to consume him.

As his eyes started to glaze while browsing the colourful selection of candies, a unique "fusion" of many different fruits and flavours, somewhere in the world he was leaving, a light went on. He did not have an idea. This was an extra lane opening up. The gods have shone this light upon him.

Robert, growing up, was not the best at anything but quite above average in reflexes. He turned his cart and darted for the newly open lane. He raced his accelerating cart, trying not to have it go out of control or spill its contents and yet reach the now open lane with expediency. Perhaps he could be the first, or, being more realistic as he tends to like to be, second or third in line. He flexed his calves and asked his heart to pump more blood and pump it faster, he was quite far from his destination but maybe he could still reach his goal, and he is now jogging across the massive contingent of checkout lanes now, ever closer now, only a couple of people have noticed and lined up at this escape route, and if -

a jolting sensation and a loud clang caused him to stop and reel backwards. Various dairy, vegetable, meat and potato products flew for aisles in every direction, and several shoppers gasped at the collision, but were unwilling to leave their hard earned spots. The other market athlete, another young man in his twenties, seemed stunned as well, his cart toppled over by the force of the two carts crashing together. Robert looked at the open lane in panic. "Was there an open lane at all?" he wondered to himself, as he looked around bewildered from a sitting position on the supermarket floor. All he saw were lines of people forming one-way walls, and he was caught between two of them. The other man had gotten to his feet and offered him a hand. Still in disbelief that the open lane had vanished as soon as his eyes were off of it, Robert took the hand and raised himself to a standing position, instantly feeling less confused. Is that how kids always feel?

"Sorry buddy, I was trying to get into the open lane," the man said somewhat timidly.

"What open lane?"

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"It's in the trees it's in the trees", it's not - it's inside me

Today is Blog Action Day. I have a blog, although it is not often updated. So, two birds with one stone!

My topic is one that people will relate to, or they will be angered by, but at the very least they should be familiar with: Cigarette litter. Instead of going all macro about global warming and whatnot, I've decided to play small ball and focus on one of my pet peeves.

Smoking is in itself quite a revolting habit. It's smelly, destroys the lungs of you and those around you, and burdens us heavily in terms of public health dollars. It's also not as fun as alcohol (disclaimer: do not drink and drive!). But that is another topic for another day. I am playing even smaller ball than smoking. This is like... a sacrifice bunt, except I'm only talking about the part where you drop the bat.

That's right, for those of you who fling your cigarette butt and then step on it, please take the extra step to put the butt into the trash receptacle. When my company goes on the "clean up day", we could fill entire bags of garbage just full of cigarette butts in the smoking area. It's not nice. The corpses still reek of the thousands of chemicals you've transformed into gas.

For those of you who toss it to the ground and don't even bother putting it out, much less waste your precious time putting it in the trash, I'm sure there's some special level of hell waiting for you. Maybe level... 6a or something. Where people on level 6 are forced to constantly smoke cigarettes and then they just toss them down at YOU. While it's still lit. It will land in your eye. You won't like it.

So now that we're friends, I once again implore you to keep your city streets clean of cigarette butts (especially Torontonians). It really does make a difference!