I know everyone's all wound up tight about politics. That's probably part of the reason I'm going insane. But there's another reason, too. So what I'm going to try to do here is take you with me to the grocery store to consider the REALITY of one of the most pressing (and often overlooked) issues in this campaign.
Global warming.
Come laugh at me, please. It's not everyday you can read about a woman who is beginning to lose her mind!
The other day on the Weather Channel I learned one of those interesting factoids that managed to penetrate even though I have family in Texas and am watching Ike as if it's some kind of huge monster that is actually going to enjoy devouring my family.
That factoid is this: What do those recycling numbers mean? Answer: The higher the number, the harder the substance is to recycle.
Whoa! Really? That simple? Well, duh.
Yup. And it even explains why, in my county, they limit recycling to cans (any) and plastics with numbers of 1 or 2. And this little factoid wound up giving me a headache (mainly because it made me think AGAIN).
Okay. So I live on future beachfront property. Considering the recent nose-dive in property values, I sometimes hope the oceans rise thirty feet in the next five years just so I can get out of here. (Note to investors... help me break even and you can own the future beachfront property yourself. It has charm now, it'll have even more then, even if we lose our Florida panthers, turkeys, deer, bobcats, armadillos and alligators...all of which reside now in my backyard. But heck, they'll be replaced with gulls, terns, sandpipers, sea oats and... oh, manta rays. Fair trade!)
But back to the grocery store. I've always made a kind of effort to buy stuff in containers that I can recycle. Despite my efforts, however, "waste not, want not" is counter corporate. At least to judge by what I face.
Okay, so I get out of my car (sorry no public transportation), grab my green bags so I don't need plastic or paper (did you know a lot of cashiers won't even pack them for you. Nope, you stand there holding up the whole line while you try to pay and pack your own... while people behind you start muttering.) Okay, rewind... leave the bags in the car, so as not to annoy people behind me, planning to tell the cashier I don't want ANY BAGS. I'll pack when I get back to my car.
Now we are in the store. Budget's tight, thanks to Bush deregulation, but hey, sorry, my kids have to eat anyway. So I go to produce, looking for stuff grown in this country... You know, ANYTHING that didn't have to be shipped from South America or New Zealand. At this time of year here, most stuff is being shipped from elsewhere. Later on I'll see the signs that say: Locally grown. Whatever. Now even California will have to do.
But Lord, this stuff needs to be put in plastic BAGS. I check the bags, no recycling info on them.
Rewind, try another store, 2 tenths of a mile away. (Yeah, I know I wasted gas, but once I know my alternatives, I won't have to do this again, and the weather channel factoid is weighing heavy.) Ah, produce bags with the magic 2 on them. So from now on, when I can afford fresh produce, I know where to come.
Now on to other stuff. Foam trays can be recycled...unless they've had meat or fish on them. Now how can I buy either of those without a foam tray? Not possible. I talk to the butcher who shrugs. "Send a comment card." I will, believe me. And while I'm at it, I'll ask why everything comes wound in a sea of plastic wrap, and whatever happened to good old butcher paper?
Canned goods, okay. But I need soap for handwashing, and with the kids I've got, bar soap is a mess. After three uses it looks like a lab experiment run amok, it melts all over everything... so liquid hand soap it is.
I notice people starting to eye me strangely as I pick up bottle after bottle of liquid hand soap and study the bottom. I keep waiting to hear the PA broadcast: "Lunatic on aisle 7!" They edge away, while glancing over their shoulders, but never come close enough so I can toss of an explanation.
Oh, jeez, the number 5 is on the bottom of all these bottles! (Why can't they put it in a #2 like soda???) Feeling like a criminal, I put my favorite brand in the cart because I don't want to have to throw away 20 bars of Dial Soap in the next couple of weeks. It takes energy to make that soap, too! (On the other hand, my #5 bottle of soap might get me that beach front property sooner.)
Off to other stuff. Milk's okay. Butter is cardboard and paper (though not recycled paper.) My favorite brand of half-and-half comes in a recyclable #2 container... but it's sold out. With my luck, that waxed cardboard container beside it, which I can't recycle, will endure a thousand years in a landfill. I think I have enough to get by, but... I don't want to make an extra car trip. I take the damn cardboard container to save gas.
By the time I finish, I've got blister packs (can't recycle), I've hunted down a birthday card that's printed on recycled paper, I've resisted any urge to buy a pretty candle (made from petroleum products) and instead purchased some soy candle in an environmentally friendly container.
At the checkout, despite the fact that I repeatedly state I DO NOT WANT BAGS, I get bags. Now I'm unhappy.
So I march out to my car, load my green bags, cut open the blister packs and toss them into one of the plastic bags I said I did not want.
Then, feeling suddenly happy, I take all the garbage back into the store and walk up to customer service.
The sweet young thang who couldn't be much older than my daughter smiles and says, "Can I help you?"
No, she CAN'T, but she may. Because, still smiling, having decided how to handle this mess, I pass her the bag full of plastic bags, unrecyclable blister packs, and the remains of everything else I could open in the car.
"Here," I say, grinning like a madwoman.
"What's this?" she asks cautiously.
"Everything you forced me to purchase that I can't recycle. Plus the bags I told your cashier I didn't want."
"Um... what am I supposed to do?" She has by this time clearly concluded I'm insane. Well, I'm getting there. Fast.
"Tell your manager to deal with it. Tell corporate I'm sick of it. Quit forcing me to buy unneccessary fodder for the landfill."
Still smiling, I grab a comment card and leave the stunned young woman behind.
Have a nice day!