So the sorting went something like opening the garbage cans and putting the recyclables in the recycle container. Then, I opened the recycle container, and put the non-recyclables into the garbage. I sorted here and there, but ended up at the back of the building, standing in front of the dumpster sorting through the bins, then dumping the garbage out in case I missed anything. I guess this sort of sorting is my way of being in control of the universe. I didn't cry about all the garbage being thrown away-the plastic forks and plates etc.
All this to say, people cannot read. Granted, we are trained to put things in the "Trash" but I watched as people were drawn to throw their garbage away, but didn't pause to read the container.
I only got a little gunk on me. Only where it was obvious, on the front of my shirt. I thought I'd wet it down and dry it with those high speed dryers they have at the pool. No, they don't have the high speed dryers anymore. So I walked around with a big splotch on my shirt, hoping no one thought that I'd got that splotch from digging through the garbage.
I won't tell the long story about how I got the garbage job, but I have to say that Van's Cub Scout den is working on it's conservation patch this Summer, so I feel compelled to walk the talk. Van, however, was busy at the pool being buried up to his chest in sand while I was the garbage gal.
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Right now I feel compelled to drive back over to the swim meet to make sure all the recycled water bottles have their lids off. I wish I were kidding. I guess this is one thing I get OCD about. Just don't come looking in my sock drawer, or Van's room, or the upstairs closet, or my closet or...
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