Newspaper, aluminum, mixed paper, mixed plastic and glass
I hauled my collections down to the recycling center today. It’s a quarterly exercise where I go and look at all the hippies and wonder if I blend in with them. (I think I do.)
I bundle up three months’ worth of newspapers, a few beer bottles, a couple of wine bottles and a big mountain of Diet Coke cans. I want to think that these cans breed in my kitchen closet when I’m not looking, but they don’t. I put every single one of those cans into that trash bag. I know because I crunch them all by hand and my hands are very tired.
And then I put it all into my trunk, drive down to the highway, get on, get off two exits later and drive into the sad part of town where the houses are smaller than my one-bedroom apartment. I turn right on Clark Street and ponder whether I should wait in line to park inside the warehouse or take an open parking spot outside and lug my junk a little farther. Depends on how long the line is. It’s been longer lately.
And I pick up a big, heavy laundry basket full of newspapers and awkwardly carry it inside, thinking, “thank god for weightlifting class or this would be even less fun.” Then some teenage volunteer says, “I can take that for you, ma’am,” and “ma’am” makes me feel old and unattractive, although I appreciate the help.
And then, my trunk emptied, I drive home dreaming of the day when I live in a house and have curbside recycling.
