Valentine

It's February 16th and in the employee break room a single heart-shaped cookie sits face-down on the lid of a plastic carton. A chunk of the cookie has been snapped off. Pink sprinkles are everywhere. A lonely, broken heart...the most pathetically obvious metaphor imaginable. Yet there it is. It was here yesterday as well. It infuriates me. Why is it that people find themselves unable to take that last piece, that last morsel, that last slice? Is it due to guilt, or an unwillingness to clean the dishes (or, in this case, throw a disposable container into the rubbish bin, which is two feet away) or perhaps both? If we can't even be bothered to dispose of a single fucking cookie, what hope is there to tackle any of the world's catastrophes and crises? My rage dissipates as quickly as a sugar high, and I dump both container and cookie into the bin and head downstairs to clock in to another day of trying not to lose patience with my fellow humans.