I am waiting for a table at a cafe and when one opens-up the waiter tells me to have a seat and he will be over to clear the table in a few moments. I sit down and look at the last patron’s trash piled on the table and I feel disgusted. What a mess these folks left behind at my table.

Of course, the waiter comes and cleans everything up, sets my heart at ease, and before I know it I am enjoying my meal. When I am done, I stretch my legs, feel myself full and relaxed, and take-out a book to start reading. Then I stop. I look around at my own trash piled on the table and it hits me…

Someone else’s trash on my table makes me squirm, but my trash is perfectly ok. And other people’s trash on their tables is totally ok, just as long as it’s not on my table. But trash is trash and tables are tables right? There is it again, the culprit of my discomfort, my delusion — me and mine.