Above: All loaded up, ready to roll...yup, I really made a picture of my recycling.
Guess you weren't expecting that kind of title on this site, eh?
Well, it's true...I do hate recycling. Don't get me wrong...I'm all for the "shouldas"...it's the "woulda/couldas" that hang me up. And in an era of too little personal accountability, I blame these people for my bad mood.
Here's why:
We live on what I like to call, in my head, the banlieue--a French word for "outskirts". Basically, I live on the edge of the 'burbs. Sprawl? Yup, that's me...though in my defense, my husband's work is pretty close (and we use fuel-efficient vehicles, and we daisy-chain trips and [insert a rationalization here]). And while my backyard is pretty much old horse farm land, the front yard is typical suburban. There's a white sidewalk often marked up with chalk by neighbor kids, the usual markers of local water and sewage service, and, twice a week, my trash can sits by the curb.
But there's never a recycling bin...ay, there's the rub. Now, ever since I went away to college in the big city, I've recycled to some extent. Which means that I've recycled in two states, in apartments, a dormitory and two other houses. It never occurred to me when I moved back to Central Texas that I wouldn't be able to recycle from home.
To quote a great suburban philosopher: "D'oh!"
I guess that translates to French...Les Simpsons...then again, maybe "Zut alors!" fits here, too.
Mind you, we pay a pretty penny for these people to tote my trash away. And they do a decent job of it...they lift the bins easily and usually set them back upright...which is easy enough considering that piles of plastic and glass sit in my garage for weeks...no, months, waiting for me to find some poor soul on which to pawn them. Heck yeah, I don't have a lot of trash out by the curb because a good portion of it is in my house!
Granted, the nice folks at the local Baptist church and our new elementary school accept newspaper and aluminum cans. So every few days, on the way to the grocery store, I make a pit stop by their giant, bee-infested bins and do my part. But the plastic and glass...that's tricky. And it involves the kindness of friends willing to accept giant piles of recycling, even if the piles out front invite wondering looks from their own neighbors and refuse workers. (Yes, I could find a local recycling center...and I've tried...but the "closest one" is actually further away than most other options and, frankly, the idea of toting a car seat-loathing toddler to a giant center is a little, um, daunting.)
Don't you think it's a little weird that I have to ask other people to take care of my refuse when I already pay a major corporation to do precisely that?
To make it all worse, these people pick up recycling at another new subdivision just a mile away. But that one is part of the city. My neck of the 'burbs is unincorporated, so no pretty blue or green bins pour moi.
I guess I can accept that the fault lies with my county reps...heck, they're responsible for the unchecked growth, too...but I do find it a little hard to swallow commercials promoting this web site from these people. I mean, c'mon...for them to tell me to "Think Green" while I'm watching MSNBC is a bit, idk, disingenuous? Gee, no wonder that only a little over 30% of Americans actually recycle. Many of us can't do so easily! In fact, neither my mother or mother-in-law have curbside recycling.
And, yes, I've called these people...I've emailed...I even flagged down a very nice man driving the trash truck, begging that we be added to the recycling route. No dice.
I got another French word I'd like to use now: batards. Yeah, I'm looking at right at these people...and I ain't talkin' about long, skinny loaves of French bread, either.
Now bring me my own bins, dang it!
P.S. Oh, and while we're on the recycling topic, here are some very smart young proponents of the recycling notion. Very cute.
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