sing it, oscar

I’ve always been fascinated with the concept of wishful recycling, throwing items in the recycling bin that you think MIGHT be recyclable, but are too lazy to confirm. So many numbers numbers on plastic containers. Pizza boxes aren’t recyclable, but so much cardboard. Surely they can work around it this one time. Glass, despite the sign saying no glass? Well, come on. It’s glass.

We do our best, filling our little trash can with hopeful solicitations from well-meaning organizations and Gatorade bottles that seem to pop up randomly. I’m sure we mess up sometimes, but what else can you do?

But then.

Our apartment complex recently gave up its effort to recycle. Apparently too many people mistook the recycling dumpster for the regular dumpster. Or maybe they think styrofoam and grocery bags and Starbucks cups are fair game. In any case, our recycling dumpster is now a plain dumpster.

And yet.

We’re still sorting our stuff. Cardboard and paper and drawings of little cats who appear a bit alarmed as they await their fate. I suppose we will take the recycling tub out now and dump it in the trash. Which defeats the entire purpose, but we’ve pretty much given up on the planet anyhow. I suspect it’s more about making you feel good that you’re doing something, anything, and this works better than actually finding a recycling bin, which would require a degree of work. But please remember. When the planet is destroyed, we did our part. Sort of.

Mostly, I want pizza now. And I’m totally stealing that cat painting.

About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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