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I have been jogging along a path located next to the Belt Parkway in Brooklyn for more than 20 years.

By nature, I am a very friendly person, so I always enjoy greeting the people whom I pass along the way.

“Good morning!” I always say, cheerfully. Sadly, some people choose to ignore me.

When my warm greeting is returned, it makes me feel as if I have wings. Miles go by without an ache.

I find the people who choose to ignore my greeting, however, quite demoralizing. They make me very sad. It feels as if I have an additional 10 pounds of weight on each of my soon to be seventy year old legs.

And so, I began to take a poll of the people I saw, in an attempt to determine exactly what type of person it was that was bringing me down.

I made note of every person I greeted over a six month period, and whether or not they responded. Divided them up: tall or short. Heavy or thin. Male or female. White or Black or Asian or Latino. Old or young. Bicycle riders or runners.

Finally, the results are in, and they are quite damning, if not particularly surprising.

Regardless of their shape, sex or size, I no longer waste my time greeting white people…

Why are ‘Kryptonite’ bicycle locks so popular? Superman is the only person on the planet they would be effective against; why would Superman need to steal a bicycle?

Seems very stylish to hate immigrants these days. Hungry? Need a job? Place to stay? Don’t look like me? Not my problem!

One time when I was a kid, my Mom and I had to walk up the four flights of stairs to our fifth floor apartment because the elevator was broken (again).

When we reached the third floor, we noticed one of the apartment doors was ajar, and we could hear a lot of crying going on inside. People were really wailing away in Spanish.

To my amazement, my Mom rang their bell, then asked the woman who answered what was going on. Turned out the family had just received an eviction notice, because they could not pay the rent.

So my Mom offered to give them the money.

I couldn’t understand what she was thinking. At the time, my Mom was earning a whopping $1.50 an hour as a bookkeeper. Part time, so she could be home when my older brother and I got out of school (our Dad had died suddenly a year earlier).

I mean, we were most likely just scraping by ourselves, and here she was, offering to help a complete stranger. A stranger who was desperate and scared and had kids of her own.

I was relieved when the lady said she wouldn’t take the money. Because if she did, I figured I could kiss my occasional 25 cents for a Spaldeen ball goodbye.

That kind of compassion for strangers in need doesn’t play anymore; today, that family doesn’t worry about eviction so much as being separated from one another and deported.

Today, someone would be standing there pointing a phone, recording the incident, judging. And my Mom gets ridiculed and her life threatened, and upended, on social media.

The inmates run things now.

On a lighter note, let’s talk about Ayds.

That’s right. Ayds.

Diet control was a big money maker in the discount store where I worked in the 1970s. ‘Dexatrim’ sold well; it came in regular or extra strength varieties. Twenty eight or fifty six pills per box.

But the biggest weight loss supplement of all was called ‘Ayds.’

It had been on the market for many years, and came in three flavors. You ate it like a candy.

The product had finally hit its stride; we could barely keep it on our shelves. All day long, customers would come in and ask, “Have you got Ayds?”

“I sure do!” I would reply. “Like some?”

“You bet!” would be the happy response.

And it seemed to work. People who used it actually got thinner. Sales were seemingly unstoppable.

What could go wrong?

Everything.

Although AIDS was beginning to spread, the executives at Ayds refused to change their product’s name. They insisted that their consumers would know the difference.

They were very wrong.

Within a year, the company went bankrupt. Ayds disappeared.

Until some new investors came along with lots of money and new ideas.

They spent a bundle on market research and were soon prepared to re-launch their product; appearance tweaked, new flavors added.

The final hurdle was what to call it. They needed to be certain their customers were not reminded of that dreaded disease when they saw their new, revamped product.

The new name?

Diet Ayds.

That’s right. The geniuses were too dumb to change the name. One executive, who just may have been the most obtuse individual to ever walk the planet, said, “The product has been around for 45 years. Let the disease change its name!”

They may as well have called it ‘Kancer.’

The company soon went out of business.