I’ll admit that hippies scare me. I’m not talking about marijuana-loving Berkeley alumni that sell tie-dye t-shirts out of their vans. I’m referring to whacked out, ungroomed men that scour the streets of Manhattan in search of lord only knows what.
Today, while sprinting out of the office for a little coffee break, I spotted a gorgeous dog sprawled out right in front of our building. His owner was standing in a ridiculously long line for something (a usual spotting in Times Square), and the dog was so beat and tired from the heat that he couldn’t even lift his head off of the pavement. It broke my heart. (I don’t care if you want to be a schmuck and pass out from dehydration, but don’t make your dog stand out there with you.)
So I went and fetched a cup of ice water. On my way back, I decided that I was too nervous to interact with said hippie…What if he yelled at me in weird hippie tongue, or worse, bit my arm (been watching too much Locked Up)? So I asked my coworker to do it. ‘Course he got all the credit, but I don’t care. Felt good to help a doggy. Even if he does belong to a crazy hippie.
I told my mom this story, and she said I have -100 points for discriminating against hippies and +100 for saving the animals. Seems fair. The guy had rubber bands in his beard.