The consequences of our actions.

The word consequence to me always seemed negative.

Whenever I think about it, rarely do people say, “Think of the benefits of your actions.” It always seems to be more about being careful about what we do in life. Whether it’s the decisions we make or the company we keep.

There’s a consequence.

Breakfast

I had just finished eating a banana as I was about an hour into my four-hour road trip. Look at me…being all healthy and sh*t.

When I was done with it, I found myself dangling the peel over the empty passenger seat like it was a pair of Grandma’s dirty underwear.

Come on, whenever we talk about Grandma’s dirty anything, it’s funny. Plus, it’s not like I mentioned Gram’s boob sweat or Vajayjay, relax.

I wasn’t about to drop it on the seat. Gross. I knew if I tossed it on the floor, in about an hour I’d be traveling with the scent of warm, rotting fruit as the heater in my truck gently blew down on it at the lowest setting for the next few hours until I arrived at my destination.

Hold on

The Sunday morning traffic was really light. I knew as soon as I rounded a few more interstate corners this wouldn’t be the case. I had to act, and act fast. Plus, I had one hand on the wheel and I’d just seen a big highway sign that read, Hands-free Law in Effect.

Upon seeing the sign, I was immediately transported back to my childhood during a bike ride home from my friend’s house. He lived at the top of a long, steep hill. I thought it’d be cool to ride down it without holding onto the handlebars. In less than a hundred feet at 30 miles per hour, the handlebars started to wobble, followed by the entire bike shaking, until I proceeded to go ass-over-tea-kettle and tea-kettle-over-ass repeatedly until I came to a whimper of a stop after what seemed like fifty feet of the worst road-rashing I’d ever received.

At least it was only on one arm…and leg…and only one side of my face. I cried like a baby for the next quarter mile as I tucked my ego between my recently dropped balls and pedaled my sorry ass back home. The total trip was about a mile. The last half of it consisted of nothing more than the occasional sniffle along with the painful burning of the tiny pieces of asphalt impaled in my youthful skin.

Consequences.

Sign language

The sign- I was eager to go all in and take advantage of this obviously well-thought-out public service announcement. I couldn’t very well be completely hands-free with both hands off the wheel and one still holding the peeling of a fruit.

Can you imagine? The assumption that everyone on the road today who doesn’t realize that texting while driving is dangerous to our habit of living will understand such a generic message is pretty presumptuous- Hands-free Law in Effect.

Companies had to add warning labels to tell kids a few years ago not to eat laundry soap because of a few rogue taste testers. If the suggestive nature of this sign were to even cause one soap-swallowing new driver to pull my wise bike stunt from back in the day, the bike’s banana seat going up their ass as they flail out of control on a quiet suburban street could be the least of their worries.

Consequences.

My plan in action

I came up with my plan. Familiar with this stretch of highway, I knew that a half-mile straight was coming up in the next 10–15 seconds. I had to time the sequence perfectly, and everything had to fall in line.

1. There could be no cars in either direction. If anyone witnessed any of this, they’d think I was littering, and the .0001 percent chance that they’d tell someone had a bead of sweat forming on my brow.
2. Once the desolation was confirmed, I’d pull double-duty with my right hand, maintaining my grip on Grammy’s dirty peel while sliding my fingers atop the steering wheel to hold steady at a few miles per hour above the speed limit, but not fast enough to draw attention to myself.
3. Almost simultaneously, with my left middle finger, I’d open the passenger side window. I was choosing my middle finger because I like the way it naturally sits on top of the window control button to effortlessly guide the window down and just as smoothly slides down and underneath the same button to quickly raise it back to the fully closed position. Since it was winter and pretty frigid outside, the down-up motion of the pain of glass had to be flawless in order to maintain the internal vehicle temp. I also have a habit of keeping loose napkins all over the place (don’t ask). I pictured one of them blowing up across my face, causing a brief blinding moment that could derail this entire operation. I knew a larger traffic flow was coming between here and my final exit and this opportunity was a one-time offering. Taking any pleasure at all in this was an added and unexpected bonus.
4. The three-punch succession of getting my left hand back on the wheel, flinging the peel the distance of the vehicle’s interior width and out the window while bringing it all back around to get the window closed again, required perfection. The chance of blowing it all by an early release of the right thumb and index finger would cause the still-currently-yellow wrapping to slap against the right side of the windshield and come to an instant screeching halt on the dash. This would no doubt leave a spooge in both places that based on the still-existing dashboard dust from the prior season, would remain at least until we sprang our clocks ahead and it got warm enough for me to even consider wiping it off. Premature ejection was not an option. A late release and I’d be dealing with a hidden gem that would eventually be found by whomever I overpay to clean this beast.

Batter up. The coast was clear. Deep breath, fuck…slight wheel jerking…get it together, man!

The place where it all happened

As I witnessed the slow-motion rotation of the brunt of all slippery jokes of the last century as it expertly threaded the needle of the adjacent window, the potential consequences of my actions became more clear to me.

Just then, out of the corner of my eye, it appeared. Time almost stood still. The scene was just like driving by a nightclub and seeing someone who told you they were too tired to hang out with you standing among their group of new best friends on the sidewalk- mile marker 115.

I made a mental note for my future story. It seemed key at the time. Now? Not so much.

Sure, I had the mile marker, but due to my excessive speed, I missed the chance to see specifically where the protective housing of the best thing I’d eaten all morning ended up, despite my superbly executed delivery. I pictured it resting quietly in the cold snow, potentially flash-freezing long before any fur-bearing or feathered creature would ever find it. What if it got hung up in a dangling tree branch? With the exception of the elusive red or gray squirrels, this would for sure hinder the efforts of anything with a fluffy tail from getting it.

I settled myself down and convinced myself that the best thing would be for a murder of crows to share in my waste. I’m not even fucking with you right now, a group of crows is called a murder, ask PBS.org. I literally learn something new every day.

Maybe it sinking into the melting snow and staying hidden from predators until it composts into fertilizer for the upcoming flower season would be best. For some reason, that seemed almost romantic.

Consequences?

What are the actual consequences of my actions for throwing out a banana peel at mile marker 115?

Does it really matter?

Not a clue. It’s a fucking banana peel. The amount of mileage that I got out of it should make you wonder what the rest of my life is like.