The Trash Police

I now live in an area where the city apparently cares about recycling. This is a good thing. I do believe God wants us to take care of the planet and therefore I want to do my part. However, I live with an 85 (soon to be 86) year old and it's just not that simple. Why, you ask? Because, here, nothing is simple.

First, no item other then paper or plastic stays in the house. Which means that EVERY other item is immediatly put in a plastic grocery bag and is taken out to one of three barrels outside. The issue is Granny is afraid of ants. Which also means even if we use paper plates (and we do quite often) those plates have to be washed before they're allowed to stay in the "indoor" trash. So why use paper? Good question.

The second issue is that there are three barrels. Blue, green, and black. Blue of course is for paper and plastic, green is for yard work, and black is for everything else. That translates to me that if I haven't sorted my trash I can throw it in the black barrel. Well, that was the thought until the trash police went through my trash and told me I was putting my trash in the wrong barrel. Invasion of privacy? I think so. Since, this is such a hassel for me I've also been known just to throw a bag of trash in my trunk and throw it out at the gas station or even at work, just so I don't get in trouble from the trash police.

The third part of the issue is the trash police doesn't just parole what goes in the trash, but how the trash goes out. Tuesday morning she waits not so patiently for the trash collectors to come with their big truck. She hurries to the window to catch a glimpse of them raising the barrel up on there big fork lift. Why? because it's imperative that they give it a good shake when it's up there just to make sure everything is out. I'm not sure why this is such a concern since between the three of us we only fill about a quarter of each barrell. When did life become so complicated?