Pooping on Camera.

“You need to check your phone, alerts have been going off from your office alarm!”

I had just returned home from walking the dogs and this was not the greeting I expected from my wife, but in response to her words I walked over and picked up my iphone. I knew what she was talking about because I had recently installed the Ring surveillance camera behind my office and it was connected to a app on my phone. (There is a secluded area near the air conditioning unit that homeless people consider a place to camp, and after one too many Monday morning clean ups I had invested in the camera hoping to end the problem.) This was the first time the alert had appeared on a weekend.

I opened the phone app and clicked on the button to view the live feed of the area. No one was there. I clicked on the history tab and selected a video of the movement that had triggered the alert. I saw a recorded image of disheveled man in an orange cap walking back and forth as if he was looking for something. He then walked out of the shot. It seemed nothing had happened. I clicked on the tab of the previously recorded video from a few minutes earlier. It showed the same man conducting similar surveillance. I wondered if he was a homeless person scouting for a campsite but as he seemed to have left I took no action.

A few hours later my wife and I were out shopping when I noticed I had missed another alert from the camera. My wife peeked over my shoulder as I opened the app and called up the video. She wishes she hadn’t. Some things are best left unseen. We watched as the same man in the same cap again walked into the frame. He looked to the left and right, as if checking to make sure no one could see him. He then took his foot and dragged it through the gravel, clearing a bare spot of dirt and making a shallow pit. Then he turned around. And reached for his belt. And lowered his pants. And did the deed. 6 feet from the air conditioning unit at my office, right there in the dirt. It was disgusting.

15 minutes later the alert went off again. This time I caught an intruder live, rummaging in the shrubbery. It was a different man, in a blue tank top. I tapped the phone icon in the Ring app so I could talk to the man in real time. “This is private property,” I said, “You need to leave!”

He stared up blankly in the direction of the speaker, as if he did not understand. I repeated myself, slowly and clearly, yet got the same blank stare in return. I wasn’t sure whether he didn’t understand or just didn’t care. I decided to call the police and ask them to come and shoo the man away. The dispatcher told me they would send an officer to investigate.

In just a few minutes the alert went off again. This time the live feed showed the police officer walking in the area behind the office. I clicked on the speaker button on the app and introduced myself. I told him I did not see the man any longer. He told me there were men trimming the trees at the office and that it must have been one of them. I told him about the previous man’s actions and encouraged him to watch his step as he left.

My wife and I finished shopping 40 minutes later and, still bothered by the previous video, decided to drive by the office. We wondered if we might see the mysterious defecator walking in the neighborhood or sitting in the office parking lot. We turned on the side street where the office is located and pulled up to the curb across from the office. Parked near the office was the tree trimmer’s pick up, a large red truck piled high with branches and trimmings. On the top of the pile, tying things down was a disheveled man in an orange cap. We gasped. The pooper was one of the gardening crew!

I was livid, more than I was when I had seen the act on video. It is one thing to have a wandering vagrant lacking in luck or cognitive abilities make a mess on one’s property. It is an entirely different thing when the mess maker is someone you are paying to clean up that property! I felt violated. I got out of my car and approached the truck, holding up my phone as evidence as I looked up and addressed the orange ballcap wearing pooper-man.

“I have a surveillance camera on this property,” I said, “and I saw you take a dump behind my office.” I don’t know exactly what response I expected but I know I did not get it. The man showed no sign of embarrassment. He simply shrugged his shoulders, said “I’ll clean it up,” and returned to his branch stacking. It was as if he was saying, “No big deal, sh— happens.”

I let him know it was a big deal to me. “You will clean it up now,” I said, “Or I will call the police.” I was not certain of an exact law the man had broken but I was pretty sure that he had to have broken at least one and I knew of no other approach that might motivate him to act. He seemed annoyed at my demands but began to move anyway. He climbed down from the truck, grabbed a shovel and went behind the office, later emerging with a bucket in his hand. I had no desire to look in the bucket, instead I asked him if he had cleaned it up. He nodded and said, “Sorry,” again shrugging his shoulders.

I don’t think he was sorry. Based on his actions and responses I do not believe he thinks he did anything wrong. His “regret” was over being caught, not in what he had done. The only behavior he is likely to change after today is his degree of surveillance. The next time he feels the need to defecate on the job he will probably look for the nearest video camera, not the nearest bathroom. I say this because I believe who a person who does not know that pooping in a person’s yard is inappropriate, a person who had no shame over crapping in public, probably does not spend a lot of time thinking about right and wrong. He does what he feels like doing in the moment.

I can think of a lot of famous people who are a lot like the pooper man, people who decided long ago that right and wrong don’t matter. Men and women to whom what matters is whether or not they can get away with their disgusting behavior, not avoiding behavior that is disgusting.

My message to them is the same as my message to the pooper man. Someone is watching, even when no one is around. Nothing we do is hidden from the eyes of God and someday we will all give account for the messes we have made!

- Bart

PS: The man is not alone in his bathroom habits. There is a "Mad Pooper" on the loose in Colorado . 

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A Sunday School Lesson for Grown Ups

Important lessons can come in unexpected places. I learned a crucial life lesson while in training to be a Sunday School teacher. I expected to learn where my class was, how to get supplies, and what the curriculum was. I learned all of these things, but it was during a discussion of how to interact with children one-on-one that the most profound lesson came.

The Children’s pastor told us, “Never praise a child for their appearance. Praise them for their character.”

She based her instruction on the words God had spoken to the prophet Samuel when he was seeking the man who was to be the next king of Israel. Samuel looked to anoint the tallest and strongest man as king but God corrected his thinking saying, “the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart." (1 Samuel 16)

She told us that we lived in a society that valued superficial achievements and attributes but that we should be different, for a person can be externally beautiful and yet ugly inside, intellectually brilliant but selfish and unkind. There is nothing wrong with pretty dresses, cute bows or cool shoes but these were not things to praise in Sunday School.  Our job was to teach children what God values, goodness of the heart. We were to do this by praising such things as kindness, obedience, generosity and love, those things that all children can do regardless of physical attributes or giftedness. 

I have never forgotten her words, for they have applications for grown ups too. I do not have to look far or wait long to see proof that our world praises the wrong things. In my profession I know many physicians who financially successful and clinically talented yet uncaring and rude. I have patients who were beautiful on the outside and respected in their professions who hide secret additions and abusive behaviors. I live in a culture in which it is possible to be famous and popular, to have millions of followers on social media and millions of dollars in the bank and yet be a selfless failure in important relationships. Many “successful” people are moral failures.

I want to be different. I want to be a success in the eyes of God. To do this will require me to work on my insides, the heart that only he can see. I may make less money and be less successful but is fine with me, for I may make a difference in the lives of others, which is of far greater value.

- Bart

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Violent Words in a Parking Lot

“You’re an F-ing idiot,” he screamed at the woman, who was obviously frightened at the explosiveness of his outburst. Concerned with neither the woman nor how he appeared to others he screamed the words at her over and over again, gesturing fiercely and menacing in his posture.

The scene played out in the parking lot of a nearby supermarket in plain view of others. The man did not care. It was clear that he wanted everyone around to know that the object of his anger was an “F-ing idiot.” My wife Lisa was witness to the outburst, the man’s words impacting her as she exited her car. She was stunned to see that the recipient of the man’s wrath was an elderly woman who was fearfully standing next to her parked car. Shocked at the intensity of his rage, Lisa waited before going into the store, fearful that the man might do something rash.

As the man continued his repetitive insults Lisa was unable to remain silent. Hoping that the awareness that others were listening would give him pause, and to let the woman know she was not alone, she said, “Excuse me?”

The man turned to her but his anger did not diminish. My wife became a secondary target. He had F-bombs to spare and was apparently willing to hurl them at anyone who did not agree with him. Lisa found herself plotting escape routes if he approached and pondering whether to dial 911.

In the course of the man’s diatribe he revealed the terrible deed the elderly woman had done, the heinous act that caused him to respond so viciously. The woman had stopped her car and waited in the lane as another woman prepared to back out of a parking spot. Mr. Angry was one of those who had to either wait several seconds for the parked car to exit or drive around her.

That was it. A momentary delay in the parking lot. The loss of a few moments of time were enough for the man to unleash his fury, enough for an elderly woman to be publicly derided as an F-ing idiot.

When Lisa shared this story with me we both marveled at the man’s lack of decency. The elderly woman may have been overly cautious in her driving, she may have made a wrong decision and she may have caused others to waste a minute or two. None of those acts made her deserving of public scorn, none had any bearing on her value as a person. It was clear to us that the man’s problem wasn’t just that he didn’t respect the woman, it was that he didn’t respect people. That absence of baseline respect allowed him to attack others for their mistakes, to condemn them for minor slights.

As we talked I thought of how more and more people are becoming like Mr. Angry, thinking only of themselves without regard for the feelings of others. So many people have forgotten the truth that every person, even those who wrong us, is deserving of kindness and respect.

I don’t want to be like Mr. Angry. I want to be better, speak better and think better. I want to view others with respect, not just in parking lots, but even in the privacy of my mind. I intend to do this by working on avoiding derogatory labels for people, to cease with the name calling that is pervasive in our culture. From now on, if someone cuts me off on the freeway, leaves a bad Yelp review, or in any way offends me I resolve to no longer say, “Look what that idiot did!” or “What a jerk!”

I am going to try and say, “Look what that person did.” No adjective, no defamatory comments. I intend to aim my negative comments at actions, not people, to continually remind myself of the personhood of every man and woman I meet, regardless of the rightness of their actions. I want to remember that everyone is a child of God, that everyone has value. As I do my prayer is that my heart will soften, my anger will fade, and a kinder person will emerge over time.

I can’t change Mr. Angry, or the countless others like him, but I can change me, and I intend to.

- Bart

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Medical Advice from Vin Scully

Her life was at a crossroads. At the age of 27 she was barely making ends meet. She was working two jobs, at Disneyland and at an office, making just enough to pay her portion of the rent for the 2 bedroom apartment she shared with a roommate. With only a high school education she did not think she would be able to afford Orange County living much longer. She was debating moving back to her family home in New England. She did not have a job there, but she had family and a lower cost of living.

I asked her if she was going to school or had considered it. Her reply surprised and saddened me.

“I don’t have much self confidence,” she said, “I am afraid that I will not do well in school.”

It wasn’t just the reality of her low self worth that bothered me, it was the fact that her sense of worth was tied more to academic achievements and professional accomplishments than it was to who she was as a person. This attitude, when combined with her anxiety disorder, was paralyzing her. She felt badly about herself and she wasn't sure her fragile sense of self could withstand the threat of failure she associated with college.

I thought of how I could encourage her. I gained inspiration from an unexpected source. What came to mind were words I had heard Vin Scully, the great announcer for the Dodgers, say during a baseball game many years ago. The Dodgers had fallen behind after a fielder had dropped a ball. After commenting how the game would have been different if the ball had been caught, he said, “The saddest words of tongue or pen are those that read, ‘What might have been.’”

I shared the story with her, that regret at previous mistakes need not consume her, and that fear of future failings not lead to lifetime of regret, how sad it would be if later in life she found herself wondering how her life would have been different if she had only tried going to school. I encouraged her to consider counseling to help her overcome here low self-esteem, anxiety and fear.

I shared with her that I had similar self doubt when I started college. I thought I was smart enough for college but I was certain that I was no where near intelligent enough to pursue a career in medicine. I was interested in health care and, thinking I could be a registered nurse, signed up for a course in anatomy and physiology. The class included two weekly physiology lectures and a Wednesday evening anatomy lab course.

Each week in the lab included a quiz on the previous week’s instruction. To my surprise, I went 11 weeks in a row without missing a question. The professor recognized my potential and each week asked me, “Are you going to go to medical school?”

Each week I answered, “I can’t go to medical school.”

Each time he answered back, “You should go to medical school.”

His words stuck. A year later, after Lisa and I had been married for about 6 months, I found myself wondering, “Could I go to medical school?” The words of Vin Scully gave me motivation. I did not want my future self to look back wondering what might I been. I decided that I had to try. I feared failure, but I faced those fears.

I encouraged her to think about trying. It seems to me that failing to try is worse than trying and failing.

Bart

A Broken Mirror, But No Bad Luck

I wanted to be home. It had been a long day at the office and my trip had been delayed by an empty gas tank. I was late, I was hungry and I was in a hurry. I was two turns from home, on the busy street beside the local park that backs to our housing tract, when I saw it coming towards me. Bouncing out between the cars was a bright yellow soccer ball.

My foot instinctively moved to the brake, fearful that the ball would be followed by a child running out from between the cars. My fears quickly passed as a I saw a fence along the curb. The ball was alone on its journey into the street. As I came to where the ball was it took a high bounce that brought it to the exact height of my passenger side mirror. At 30 miles an hour a soccer ball generates significant force. I heard a “pop” as the ball hit the side mirror and then saw the mirror disappear from its plastic casing. I pulled over to survey the damage.

The plastic casing was intact and still attached to the car but the reflective piece was completely gone. There was naked black plastic in the place where reflected objects are "closer than they appear to be". I sighed and walked the 100 yards to retrieve the missing piece, back to where the soccer ball had appeared and the mirror disappeared.

As I walked, thoughts of frustration and anger began to rise, including, “Why was a child kicking the ball toward the street?” “Why wasn’t the coach paying attention?” and “I shouldn’t have to pay for this!”

I found my cracked mirror underneath a truck parked adjacent to the low fence alongside the practice area. I picked it up and turned toward the field and looked for the coach. He was a young man, in his late twenties or early thirties, standing about 30 yards away. He was absorbed in the impossible task of trying to get the attention of fifteen 6 to 7-year-old boys. I held up the mirror and called to him, “Excuse me!”

He immediately looked over. When he saw the mirror in my hands his head dropped and his hand went to his forehead in a gesture of frustration. He walked over to me with an apologetic look on his face. His words matched his expression. “I’m sorry,” he said, “They were supposed to be on water break and he kept kicking the ball. I told him to stop. I will tell him and tell his mom.”

All thoughts of anger and frustration faded as I realized the truth of what had happened. A young coach was doing his best to control a group of energetic little boys. One of them had kicked a ball at a time and in a direction he was not supposed to and a freak accident had occurred. The young coach was now confronted with a middle-aged, shirt and tied man holding a damaged mirror. The coach was fearful of anger and a demand for compensation.

I looked at the coach and the players and realized that the cost of replacing the mirror would likely be a significant burden to them and little burden to me. I could likely rant and rave and claim my right to compensation but what was the point in that? I felt my angry heart soften.

“I can afford to have the mirror fixed,” I said, “but I think he should know what happened so he can learn to be more careful.” The coach called the little boy over. The boy looked fearful as he approached, as if he was expecting to be yelled at and punished. He was clearly relieved when he learned that neither was going to happen. I showed him the mirror, told him I knew it was an accident, but that he needed to be more careful, because it costs money to fix things even when they are accidentally broken. Then I walked away.

As I walked back to my car I realized how much I had changed over the years. Growing up my parents had instilled in me a strong, albeit corrupted sense of “right” and “wrong.” I was taught to assert my rights and get what I deserved. Grace and forgiveness were not Barrett family values. On the rare occasions that forgiveness was given it always came with a price, a debt that would have to be paid or guilt that needed to be felt. There was no such thing as an innocent mistake to my father.

I thought back to the lectures and verbal abuse I had received as a child for innocent mistakes I had made and the associated ever present fear of doing wrong. I remembered times when my father insisted that I confront someone who had wronged me to demand that I get what was coming to me. That was the Barrett way. As i got into my car I took comfort in the realization that it is not the Barrett way any longer.

I drove away with the realization that the coach and the boy had no idea who I was, no way of knowing how to find me in the future, and no way of ever paying me back for the damage that I had been done. I decided that this way, the way of grace, is the best way to respond.

-          Bart

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