Don't Take Me Seriously - Book - Page 58
ESCAPE Weekly
Confusion
Continued from page 4
And I think I picked up some that
weren’t my own.
That’s because there were a number of
napkins, and paper plates, residing in the
sand box that no one picked up.
Seriously, no one picked them up — at
an Earth Day celebration. (Or is it just
me that sees the absurdity here?)
Yes, it was breezy. I’m sure no
one deliberately put their trash in
the sandbox.
(Though, for a time, I did imagine
a juvenile delinquent, looking a lot like
I did back in the day, sneaking around
and planting paper plates when no one
was looking.)
But the fact remains, somebody, or a
few of them, did not retrieve their trash
when the wind blew it just a few feet
away — while they attended an event
focusing on making the world a better,
more environmentally-friendly place.
Really? Have we not progressed even
that far?
Well, I read that they are bringing the
Litterbug back as poster boy for a new
anti-littering campaign. I guess we have
to re-learn everything now and then.
And I guess while we’re preoccupied with
global warming, we can’t see the napkin
for the trees.
Now, of course I could have been a
Boy Scout and collected all of the trash
in the sand. And there might have been a
time when I would have. But I got older,
I circled my wagons a bit, and figured
April 24 - 30, 2009 – 16
taking care of myself and ingraining the
good stuff in my children was enough.
Maybe it wasn’t enough. But, still,
I walked away, kinda smug in my
ecological-sensitivity and superiority and,
like a semi-good scout, I proudly took my
own trash to the trash bin.
But there I came up against it.
The regular trash bin had a sign taped
over the mouth that discussed fossil fuels
and carbon emissions. The point was
clearly “Don’t throw your trash in here.”
And I couldn’t anyway, without putting
my trash down and peeling the tape back
on the sign to get it out of the way.
But I considered it.
I looked around and, OK, there were
two huge bins, one blue, with a sign that
read “Recycle,” and one green, with a sign
that read “Compost.”
But there were no directions, no sign
with cute drawings and little woodsy
animals, telling me what to put in
which bin. You know, cute little Michael
the Squirrel holding a plastic cup and
encouraging, “Be like Michael and
recycle.” Or Willie the Worm munching
on leftover lettuce, saying, “You’re cool
the most, when you compost.”
Nothing. I was on my own.
Now I’m not totally stupid, and I
recycle at home, and I know that compost
is “organic” material. So I figured I could
handle this. But I looked at my trash and
it was varied. I had a paper cup, paper
plate, paper napkin, aluminum foil and a
plastic straw.
Plastic straw — that’s easy, recycle.
Aluminum foil — easy, recycle.
But, just after I tossed those in the
Photos by Jim Walker/The Signal
(Above left) At the Earth Day Festival, the regular trash cans were covered. (Above right) There
were many paper plates and napkins in the Central park sandbox — something that did not suit a
day of celebrating environmental protection. Is it time for the old Litterbug campaign again?
“Recycle” bin, I realized that my foil
was wadded up around my leftover
sautéed unions.
D’oh!
And somewhere an eagle cried.
Now onions are clearly organic,
sautéed or otherwise, and mine definitely
should have gone in the “Compost” bin.
You might say I was over-thinking
this, but it truly bothered me. And for
a moment I was considering dumpster
diving to do the right thing.
But no, I didn’t.
I glanced over my shoulder to be sure
the ecological police weren’t looking, and
a shiver of excitement ran down my spine
— I was bad to the bone again, baby.
But I overcame my baser desires and
thought about which bin to put my paper
plate, cup and napkins in.
I opened the compost bin, just to
check, and there were paper items in
there. Confused, I checked the recycle
bin — same thing.
Now I was totally flustered, and the
sandbox-as-a-dump idea started scoring
points in my mind. All I had to do was
just open my fingers and let the wind
take the blame. To really sell it I could
make a lame attempt at catching the
blowing paper — you know, just letting it
get farther and farther away until anyone
watching would understand when I quit.
Maybe I could add a limp for sympathy.
Instead, I opened both bins and
considered:
“Who made the mistake here —
the folks who dropped paper in the
recycle or those who decided it went
with squeezed-out lemons?”
“Well, I recycle paper at home,” I
thought. So I started to drop my paper
in the recycle bin — but my fingers
wouldn’t relinquish it here any easier than
to the wind.
I ran through my ecology courses
in my mind — or at least what I could
remember of them. “Paper is from trees,
trees are part of Kingdom Plantae. But
what phylum are trees in? Slow down,
breathe. You are over-analyzing.”
“Paper is made from wood, right?
Organic? So that can be compost,” I
concluded. I held mine over the compost
— same result, couldn’t let go.
I was losing it and my desperate
mind somehow pulled out Little Jackie
Paper and Puff. But I knew that was
just a flashback and they had no real
connection to the ecology movement
except, you know, it was back in the day.
Finally, I enie-meanie-minie-moe-d it
and, honestly, don’t remember which bin
my plate, cup and napkins ended up in.
I skulked away and, as you can see, I
couldn’t get over it.
Since then I’ve been online and it
would seem paper plates and such can go
either way, recycle or compost. Maybe the
folks that set up the bins at the festival
figured everyone knew that. Maybe
everyone did know that.
But I didn’t.
Even so, I did my best. Can those
napkin-releasers say the same?
How far have we come?
People, saving the planet begins with
that first napkin.
