I’ve heard it so many times—as have you.

“Someone else will . . .”

It doesn’t matter how the sentence ends. The speaker—whether it’s you, me, or some guy you overheard talking to his friend—sheds responsibility of something, responsibility that should be individual (i.e. his, hers, yours, mine) rather than collective.

Have you ever watched someone throw a bag of McDonald’s out of the car window? Have you ever seen a person spill a drink on the floor at a party (at a drunken college party, for example)? Have you ever witnessed someone accidentally knock an onion from the produce stand or a box of cereal from the shelf at the grocery store?

Someone else will . . .

1. Deal with it
2. Clean it up
3. Pick it up

Recently, I experienced this (all-too-common) phenomenon where a person confused his or her responsibility with someone else’s duty. In this case, the duty ended up falling on a group of us, the collective.

I sat at a local, Indianapolis bar with two friends, sipping a few beers and sharing appetizers. Adjacent to our small, three-person table was one of about 10 people. I took no notice of them other than that. There were 10 of them, none any more or less distinguished than the rest. Just people.

Until the end of the evening.

The Colts’ game just ended, and people were heading out of the restaurant in swarms after paying their bills. The waitress—who had also been serving our table—walked up to the table adjacent and saw two people missing.

“Did they leave?” she asked.

The table of eight looked confused. Someone said, “I think so.” The waitress didn’t respond to that, just shook her head. “Did they not pay their bill?” someone else at the table asked.

“No,” the waitress said and turned away before saying something she might regret in front of her other (paying) customers.

“Miss?” one of the women summoned. “So what happens to that bill?” The woman seemed worried, not for herself but for the waitress.

Waitress: “It comes out of my tips.”

“How much was the bill?”

“80 dollars.”

The eight remaining women stopped, gawked at her, looked around in astonishment. The two who left hadn’t really been friends with this group of eight; it was a packed bar, and seating was limited, after all. They’re not to blame, and they knew it. Still, they couldn’t believe it. Neither could we.

One of the women spoke up. “I can help pay for it.”

“Me too,” my friend said.

I reached into my wallet, found a 20-dollar bill. “Here you go,” I said to the waitress. My friend handed her a credit card, as did that one woman out of eight from the adjacent table. Together, we split the bill.

That’s not the point. I don’t care that I helped the waitress. My friend didn’t mind. The other woman—only one of eight, mind you—didn’t flinch when she offered her card either. We all knew that, simply, it wasn’t fair that two people left and the waitress—based on her money-grubbing restaurant’s rules—would have to foot the bill with hard-earned cash.

Again, the money isn’t the issue. The problem is that we got stuck as the collective, the people who had to pay for it, because the individual—two, in this case—decided to shirk responsibility. Just like someone else, somewhere else, every day, will also, inevitably, have to:

1. Deal with it
2. Clean it up
3. Pick it up

Whatever it may be. Because a certain individual didn’t take responsibility.

This phenomenon is everywhere; it’s pervasive. It’s as common as a winter cold, but the problem is that it’s not seasonal. It’s perpetual, invasive, addicting. It’s malignant.

We all do it to an extent, even the most considerate of us. I do it.

I sit on the couch and watch my mother clean the dishes after she spends three hours cooking Sunday dinner. I have a little bit of that “Someone else will . . .” mindset, even as I’m aware of it and try to combat it.

The solution, for us, is too simple to avoid.

Don’t expect someone else to deal with it, clean it up, pick it up. Don’t expect someone else to hold the door. Don’t expect someone else to shovel the sidewalk. Don’t expect someone else to pay for your living expenses. Don’t expect someone else to take care of your parents when they slip into senility. Don’t expect someone else to clean up the mess you made. Don’t expect someone else to donate to a cause you care about.

Because someday soon—if it hasn’t already happened—you might expect that someone else will . . .

When someone else won’t.