I was on a run yesterday and I was stopped at a stop light (UGH), and was waiting to cross. A car with a few teenage boys drove by and they looked over at me. Usually this means a catcall (one baby later and i've still got it. ) or some sort of weird, immature yelling. But instead, one of the boys raised his hand and formed a big fat "L" with his hand. L for Loser (in case you skipped elementary school), directed straight to me. If I was having one of those days, it could've been enough to make me cry. But thankfully, my hormones were in balance that day. I continued to run in a loser-like fashion, and was still a bit dumbfounded. Like, why would that guy actually put effort into something so deliberately mean? It didn't make sense to me.
But then a thought popped into my head and it said: this is what i get for throwing rocks at that car when i was 5 years old. My cousin Bailey and I were sitting outside of our great-grandpa's house, throwing little pebbles at every car that drove by. By about the 5th car, a perfectly stereotypical grumpy old man rolled his window down and yelled in his gruff old voice: "hey you kids! stop throwing rocks at my car!". We ran inside and cried, because apparently we expected everyone to be perfectly fine with having rocks thrown at their car.
so yeah, karma.
(I thought i'd give you a little snippet of what went through my mind at mile 3 of 5 today. you are welcome.)
And in case you were wondering, the moral of the story is: don't throw rocks and expect people to still love you, and be nice to your fellow pedestrians. and if you can't be nice, then at least don't be mean.