Interesting that a gentleman driving a green Prius, looking every bit like a normal human being with a calm heart, older than I am (if that’s possible–he is a member of the Great Generation, actually), should feel free to roll down his window and call me a Wacko. An Environmental Wacko, no less. “One of those Environmental Wackos who works on the creek.” Was I minding my own business? Yes. Was I working on the creek at that moment? No. I wasn’t even fully awake. I was doing as I’d been asked to do–to help direct hikers toward the parking area for a docent-led exploration of a spring wildflower preserve.
You can park up ahead, I said. There’s still room. But parking and hiking were not on his mind–heckling and spewing invective were.
I’m awake now. He’s inspired me to use him as a character in a story or play. I won’t post his license plate number–I will save that for the Sheriff should this gentleman return to harass me or my colleagues again.
Oh, yes. Some name-calling is considered okay; it’s a sort of cultural institution.
Keep moving, buddy. We Wackos want to get back to work.