Dirty Pants

I looked around last night to see a dirty man in dirty pants. He was scummy-looking. He had a cane and a mean disposition. He was spouting some redneck dialog, that sounded like back-woods, Ozark speak. I tried to feel a little sorry for him. After all, he was in the ER with his apparent wife and teenage daughter. What would a white-trash family be doing at the hospital at 1:48AM on a Tuesday morning? There seemed to be no immediate emergency. Perhaps she was there for her weekly drug fix. Of course this was all speculation on my part. I didn't know these people. How sanctimonious of me. "What poor people." I thought to myself. Un-washed, un-learned, un-kept... I walked outside for a quick smoke, when I saw the scraggly man smoking by his run-down truck. "Pitiful." I whispered to myself... As I walked back into the blinding fluorescents of the ER, I happened to look down. I noticed my jeans were dirty. My shirt had dirt on it too. My migraine-laden wife was sitting on the uncomfortable chair; using my jacket as a pillow. I thought back to the ride into the parking lot, when the entire side window of my van shattered on the pavement. I was standing outside smoking at 2:00AM in an emergency room parking lot, with a busted out window, in dirty clothes, condemning others... How ironic is that? I did learn something though... More mirror, less binoculars...