Photo: Jon S, flickr
Every day on the bus ride to work I disembark at Metcalfe Station, where every day fat, unshaven men in garish, corporate vests try to make me read their free newspapers. I don’t like free newspapers. They are, by definition, worthless.
It’s a universal truth that things with value cost money, while things without value are free—particularly where fat, unshaven men are concerned. If it weren’t, then Richard M. Stallman would be the Editor of the Boston Globe, instead of the author of licenses no-one reads, and software that no-one uses. Also, Paul Prudhomme would probably be making edible steak and potato dinners, Dom DeLuise’s surviving relatives would be dusting the mantelpiece around his collection of Oscars, and Meat Loaf would be gyrating suggestively on MTV.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that fat, unshaven men are boils—gelatinous, silent menaces, ceaselessly irritating the hindquarters of the modern world. One possible exception: Philip Seymour Hoffman—he wasn’t bad, for a junkie.
But getting back to those hosebags at Metcalfe Station, what I dislike most is the way that they place their stacks of newspapers up on the benches that are intended for commuters. The message is clear: human comfort and common courtesy is less valuable than storage space for a free newspaper.
Let it be known: I have decided to lie in wait for these men, and follow them home. I have created my own free newspaper, and will be offering them to passers-by in front of the mens’ houses. Moreover, I will be distributing them from lawnchairs I have stolen from the mens’ own yards. I think this will make a valuable point: valuable enough to compensate me for the hard work I am putting into creating my free newspaper. I only hope people will take the time to read it.
Please note: Mine won’t be worthless. There’s principle underneath.
Jerold J. Waldron