When I moved to New Hampshire, I picked up the trash scattered throughout the forest all the way up my street. I dragged it home, carefully rinsed out the tobacco pouches and mud, and then, with my flashlight and magnifying glass in hand, I began the process of separation. There were a few glass bottles and aluminum cans. There were the typical number ones and number two plastics. The nip bottles were mostly number one. The Dunkin’ cups? Number five.
Without the option of curbside pick-up that I had grown accustomed to, I hauled the booty to the recycling center. Soon after I arrived, my exuberance turned to dismay when I found that the plastic disposal area only provided receptacles for my ones and twos. A stern attendant stood watchfully nearby.
“Remove your caps,” He said, “They pop off and take out the workers’ eyes.”
I immediately complied, tortured by the thought that up until this moment, my negligence in this area had resulted in serious eye injuries for millions.
“And rinse them out better next time,” He added, clearly unsettled by the number and variety of dirty nip bottles I was dumping into his barrel.
“Where do I put my fives?” I asked in a disheartened tone.
“We don’t take them,” he replied without sentiment.
I was incredulous. I had always been able to recycle my number fives.
“China stopped taking our waste in 2018. It’s just going to a landfill.” He stated matter-of-factly as he strolled away, leaving me aghast, alone with my limp bag of Dunkin’ cups.
“What an absurd system,” I grumbled on the way back home, the irrepressible cups bouncing on the seat beside me. “Don’t worry,” I consoled them, “I’ll find a way to keep you out of the waste stream.”
A year later, I still have that bag of cups, straws and lids sitting on my screen porch. I thought about displaying them out on the side of the road with a hand-painted sign: “This Forest is not your Dumpster”. I then considered filling them with sand and building a garden wall. An art piece? The orange straws would make a nice Christmas star. Yesterday, I vowed to ship the whole lot off to Dunkin’ with a note: “I found some of your stuff lying around and thought you might want it back”.\
“Once you buy something,” my boyfriend said as I attempted to find the CEO’s address online, “It’s yours.”
“Yeah, well, it has their name on it! Why do you write your name on your underwear? Because it belongs to you,” I protested on my way down the basement stairs in search of a shipping container.
“It’s not their fault that people are slobs,” he shouted after me.
I emerged from the basement, cobwebs sticking to my face and hair. “Even if you can change human behavior, it takes hundreds of years. Dunkin’ could change this problem in a day.”
“Really?” He looked up skeptically from his morning tea.
“Or maybe a week,” I muttered, cramming the cups in the box.
The timeline aside, the real question, it seems to me, is why is this my problem? Why am I racked with guilt over somebody else’s transgressions? I am not referring to the litterbugs, although a new round of public service announcements might be helpful. Change, in this case, is not going to happen from the ground up. Yes, I know, there are many innovative alternatives to single-use non-degradable plastic out there, but they are practical only for diehard deep ecologists and people of means. The average American will buy what is affordable and accessible. Relying on public education and individual responsibility is not the answer; people like the convenience of single use and besides, with a pandemic ranging, it is almost a mandate.
I am pointing my wagging finger in one direction only: at you, manufacturers. I am stunned by the effort you put forth on a beautiful package without any regard for its not-so-beautiful future: lying around on the floor of a forest, floating down a stream, stuck on the writhing head of a furry animal, choking the majestic whale and the innocuous sea turtle, filling the guts of the mighty albatross, piling up on our screen porches… it has your name on it, guys.
The solution is clear. Manufacturers, it is time for you to take responsibility for your packaging from cradle to grave. The technologies already exist, you just have to care enough to implement them. Right now, you reap the profits but absolve yourself of the consequences as soon as the product hits the shopping cart. We, the people, have grown accustomed to this unfair arrangement, but this is not the way it has to be.
We are drowning out here in plastic
