Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Jan. 28, 2003: The Recycling Challenge

Who wants my plastic? No one, apparently.

Previous places I've lived allow you to leave a recycling bin on the curb. My current municipality, however, seems to believe that this would only encourage the bacchanalian consumption of beverages in recyclable containers.

Either that, or they believe in the Magic Trash Fairy, which evaporates all trash as soon as it's taken away by the garbage truck.

The first time I tried to recycle in the Philadelphia area, I went to a place which promised "accurate and complete recycling." I had called ahead of time for their hours, and that's when I showed up. There was no designated place to leave your recyclables, so I drove my truck into the back, where a guy with a skidloader was zipping around between bins of recyclables.

"Where can I leave this?" I asked him, gesturing to my collection of carefully washed out and separated aluminum, newspapers, bottles and plastic.

He looked at it and made a face. "You can't leave that here," he said."We consider that trash."

They did? "OK. Where can I leave it?" I asked.

"You can't leave it here," he said, and went back to pushing recyclables around in his skidloader.

After this rude introduction to recycling in this area, I scouted out a few recycling centers, all of which are particular about what they take. The place most convenient to me only takes glass, which would be fine if most of my recyclables weren't plastic.

I then heard about a place in the next town that took a full range of recyclables. Using directions provided by my landlord, I managed to track it down. They took a range of recyclables, all right: everything but plastics.

So for now, I've resigned myself to storing up the plastic bottles and taking them with me when I visit my parents. At least I know where to take them back there.

This might seem weird to anybody else, but it was ingrained on me -- perhaps in Girl Scouts, perhaps through my parents and grandparents -- that it's unacceptable to throw things out when they can be reused.

Or maybe I'm already turning into my maternal grandmother. I mean, look at the signs: I keep anything that can be useful, ranging from twist ties and rubber bands to plastic grocery bags. My coat often has dog hair on it, which doesn't bother me. Next thing you know, I'm going to be flitting around in a house dress singing songs from the 1920s.

I suppose there are worse things; I could believe in the Magical Trash Fairy.

Moral:
If you are currently picturing every piece of trash you've ever touched, stop now or the Magical Trash Fairy won't come.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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