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Trash talk

Trash talk By Sheree Kirby We moved to what seemed to be a peaceful, idyllic suburb of Silicon Valley. We found this to be the case-six out of seven nights-but never on Thursday. On Thursday nights one can sense tension and confusion in the air. Exhausted men and women in suits and sweats drag bins and cans to the curb, and scratch their heads in bewilderment. Thursday night, you see, is GARBAGE NIGHT. I should have suspected something was amiss when we received the "how to" packet from the City's recycling division. Included was a poster rivaling any scientific flow chart I've ever seen. Not included, but needed, was an announcement for an accompanying instruction class which might be appropriately titled "Garbage 101" or "Recycling for Dummies." Dummies we are not, and neither are our neighbors. But how in the world does one keep it straight? The bins are to be left curbside in order: top, middle, bottom. Additionally, there are the extra old garbage can, the newer can with wheels, and the neat pile of yard waste. Only very specific items go in very specific bins. The middle bin, for example, is for mixed paper. Paper bags are acceptable, as is colored paper, but not colored paper bags. Cracker boxes are a "yes," but not the plastic bags inside which actually hold the crackers. Egg cartons are welcome in this bin if they are made of cardboard but not polystyrene. The old garbage can takes "mixed recyclables," but not too mixed. Thumbs up on syrup bottles, but never on cottage cheese or yogurt cups. Polyester or rayon is acceptable, but nylon and leather are not. Is the difference always visible? Juice boxes are okay unless they contain foil, in which case they go in the black can with wheels. Plastic bags can be recycled, but not plastic wrap. Containers are okay if they once held cooking oil, but not butter. A visitor to our fair city might laugh at how absurd this sounds, but we natives don't laugh when our bins are rejected on Friday morning. Rejected bins are left on the curb, in complete view of our neighbors who, this time at least, escaped rejection by the collector. My husband, who designs complex technical buildings for a living, somehow equates his manhood with his ability to execute a complete pickup on garbage day. Last Friday, I ran outside as he yelled my name, thinking he may have been hurt. There he was, standing over the mixed paper bin (left by the collector) waving a manila envelope at me. "Is this yours?" he accused. With my name splayed across the front, I was in no position to deny it. "IT'S PADDED!" he exclaimed, "UNACCEPTABLE," he added, his tone tinged with blame. I know there are ways around this, if one chooses to be sneaky. There are rumors in the neighborhood of one gentleman who, in the process of remodeling his bathrooms, actually broke up two whole toilets and hid them under the legitimate garbage in the black can with wheels. The poster sent by the City shows a fish bone, paper cup, light bulb and empty toothpaste tube as examples of the only items that are not recyclable. The caption reads "Not much is left for your garbage cart!" Oh come on. There is plenty left for the garbage cart; just look at all of the items deemed unacceptable for the recycling man. There must be a way to minimize the stress of garbage night. Perhaps we should adopt the method of the retired gentleman down the street. His cans, bins and yard waste are all neatly lined up at his curb by Thursday morning (a full 24 hours before pick up). I think he leaves town for a day to avoid the collective evening tension in the neighborhood. That, however, would take too much planning ahead that is, in itself, stressful. It would also mean running out to the curb all day Thursday with that lone tuna can or empty shampoo bottle. For the time being, it seems we will continue going along with the stress-filled masses. It's Friday afternoon. I hold my breath as I turn the corner leading to our house. Thank goodness, the bins and cans are empty and the yard waste is gone. My husband has regained his manhood and our neighborhood is once again calm and peaceful, at least until next Thursday. About the author: Sheree Kirby writes features and essays on relationships, family and parenting issues. Her work has been published in Bay Area Parent, San Francisco Parent and Valley Parent. Her relationship column "Ties that Bind" has appeared in the San Jose Mercury News. She lives in San Jose with her husband and three children. © 2001 Siliconmom

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