Readers of New Escapologist will know about my demented commitment to recycling.
For instance, I save all of my Tetra-Pak milk cartons (which can’t be recycled in our regular home recycling bins) for five or six months and then walk them (yes, walk them) to the dump.
I did this today.
It’s a 90-minute round trip, but I enjoy the exercise and the sense of moral superiority I get from going the extra mile (or six) for recycling.
Another thing I like is how the walk becomes increasingly familiar. I’ve been doing this walk for over three years now, so probably seven or eight times.
Because I wrote about the walk in New Escapologist Issue 14, I remember a lot of the things I wrote about. For example:
I have a moment of mild anxiety when a woman is coming towards me, knowing that we must pass. I think it’s someone who worked as a barmaid in my local pub and that she probably doesn’t like to be recognised by old punters. Unsure how to behave, I decide not to say hello nor to ignore her. Instead, I will rest my face in absolute catatonia. As we’re about to pass, I realise that saliva is pooling in my mouth and I really must swallow. I gulp nervously as she passes. Then I notice that it isn’t her at all.
That spot is now “barmaid corner” despite, in reality, having nothing to do with that person whatsoever. I probably only remember the incident because I wrote about it.
The walk takes me through the grounds of a hospital:
I pass the hospital. Thoughts of coronavirus testing days and a couple of x-rays and ultrasounds flit briefly through my mind.
What I always see but didn’t mention in the original report is a plastic human spine through a ground floor window. It must be an osteopath’s office or something.
I saw the spine today and, strangely, it was being snuggled up to by a lovely golden retriever. 🎵 “Goldie and Spiney / working the whole day through / Goldie and Spiney / criminals, watch out.” 🎵
There’s a juncture where I must choose to stay on the main path and pass some shops or to walk behind the shops down a back alley where only bins dwell. If I take the former, my state of mind is public-spirited and I imagine myself walking down an Amsterdam boulevard. If I take the latter, I feel like Batman or Angel, staying out of the light for maximum brooding.
Today I took the back route but I thought of this: I choose between Netherworld and Netherlands.
Deep, Deep!
I dump my tetra-paks, a handful at a time into the correct dumpster. They fall on top of everyone else’s. I notice that most of the tetra-paks are soya or almond or coconut milk like mine, none of them dairy milk. I suppose only the most devoted of hippies bother to recycle their tetra-paks.
And this is where I noticed something truly remarkable. Oh boy. As I opened the dumpster I was confronted with several milk cartons (same brand as the ones we buy) squashed flat-as-a-pancake just like mine.
Anyone who has seen my super-flattened Tetra-Paks will remember it. I flatten them to get as many into the bag as possible, delaying my walk to the dump for a little bit longer. Nobody else does that. Or so I thought.
Who is the other person who flattens their cartons like this? It could be love. My real soul mate, sorry Samara.
The one thing that troubles me is how few of them there were: maybe 20. This person isn’t keeping them for five or six months like I do. This suggests that they drive to the dump like a muggle. You have to walk, you idiots, or your commitment doesn’t count. A trip in a car obliterates the benefit of any effort you make to recycle.
Even so, I’d love to know who else is doing this. Were they inspired by the sight of my own perfectly-flattened Tetras when they opened the dumpster six months ago?
Or were these flattened cartons, quite simply, my own perfectly-flattened Tetras from six months ago? Surely not. Surely the bin is filled and emptied more often than that.
I will never know. And that, my friends, is a tragedy.
The walk back takes exactly the same time as it took to walk out, but it always feels a shorter walk in psychogeographical minutes.
Not this time. This time, I was troubled by what I’d seen in that bin. And the walk home seemed to take ages.
Bin:
🎵 “Show us your garbage / show us your trash / if people like it / you’ll win some cash.” 🎵
