I spotted a lone flossing pick next to a Tesla Supercharger the other day—charger left in frame for scale, of course. It was oddly poetic, a symbol of modern hygiene meeting modern tech. Then, yesterday, I found another one on the golf course, nestled beside my ball in a sand trap. That’s when the questions started. Should I floss inside my Tesla and toss the pick post-charge, or stand beside the charger and floss in the open air? Is there a protocol for this? I’m genuinely curious. The etiquette of public flossing is clearly evolving, and I need guidance.
Golfing adds another layer of complexity. Do I carry the flossing device in my pocket, or tuck it into my golf bag next to the tees? Should I floss before the sand trap shot to clear my mind, or after the inevitable second shot, since I never escape the trap on the first try? These are not trivial questions. They speak to the intersection of oral hygiene and athletic performance. I want to be respectful of the game, but also of my gums. Surely someone has charted this territory before me.
Then there’s the matter of sand trap etiquette. When I found the flossing pick, it was nestled in the footprint of an unraked trap—a failure on multiple levels. Do I rake around the device, preserving its placement like an archaeological find? Or do I bury it, letting the sand reclaim what was never meant to be there? I chose to rake around it, but I’m still unsure. It felt like a moment of reverence, a nod to the mystery of how it got there in the first place.
I’ve started noticing flossing picks everywhere now. Parking lots, hiking trails, even one wedged into a sidewalk crack like a tiny plastic flag. It’s become a strange scavenger hunt, a reminder that people floss in the wild. And while I admire the commitment to dental health, I question the disposal strategy. Is there a secret society of rogue flossers? A code of conduct I’ve missed? I’m not judging—just trying to understand. Because once you start seeing them, you can’t unsee them.
I’ve considered starting a photo series: “Flossing Picks in the Wild.” Each image would be a study in contrast—cleanliness against chaos, intention against neglect. The Tesla charger shot was a masterpiece of accidental composition. The sand trap one? Pure existential comedy. But beyond the humor, there’s a real question here: how do we floss responsibly in public spaces? Is there a right time, a right place, a right way to dispose? I’m ready to learn. I just need someone to teach me.
So here I am, a golfer, a driver, a flosser, seeking answers. I want to honor the ritual without offending the landscape. I want to floss with dignity, not abandon. If anyone has a handbook, a guide, a set of rules—I’m all ears. Until then, I’ll keep raking around the picks, snapping photos, and wondering what it all means. Because sometimes, the smallest things raise the biggest questions.
