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I live in a building in New York City, not designed, nor zoned, for residential habitation. Because this ancient loft building is, by no legal means, a residence, I often experience difficulty doing things that most urban dwellers take for granted, like recycling. It is a dirty little secret that commercial trash haulers in New York City are not obligated to recycle the way residences do, they often only recycle paper, and who knows if they even do that. I have yet to see the ‘recycling agreement’ of the commercial trash hauler who services the building that I work in. All commercial trash haulers must keep these agreements on file, according to the informative NYC recycling website.
I thought that I had the perfect solution. I happened to be borrowing a car, and happened to have a giant bag of bottes and cans that I would feel guilty about tossing in the street. Bottles and cans in the trunk, a short drive to my parents place across town that boasts proper residential recycling, problem solved.
No good deed goes unpunished. A second bag of cans, purloined from the building lobby in an effort to salvage all recyclables (not just my own!) is quickly jettisoned to the curbed after it begins to leach stale beer. Not in my trunk! I hope my neighbors learn to empty beer cans someday. A mile in the car and a half hour of traffic snarls later, my overloaded bag of bottles and cans is removed from the trunk, and promptly breaks open, spilling glass and cans all over the garage floor. I don’t really feel like a triumphant savior of the earth at this moment. I instead vow to put my creativity to good use and find a way to re-use all of the empties instead, or, perhaps, my friends and I could consume less beer and wine from bottles and cans. Can I get a cask of wine perhaps?
