I stand in front of the three bins outside One House Bakery and freeze. Performance anxiety.Recently, I’ve been flummoxed every time I go to throw something away— is it landfill, recycle, or compost, or is it plastic, which is a whole other kettle of fish?
My breathing has become short and rapid. People behind me are getting impatient and I’m stuck like a squirrel in the middle of the road pondering my next move. Would a flattened squirrel be compost? Answer: depends on the amount of plastic it ate.
I can do this. I take a breath. I had a rosemary ham sandwich on baguette, hold the butter, hold the cheese. It’s wrapped in a waxy sandwich paper. I note “Compost” on the green barrel,“Recycle” on the blue, and “Landfill” on the brown barrel. Simple enough. Each container has a sign with photos of the appropriate items to deposit.
I look on the “Landfill” sign and see what looks like a crumpled up paper that could have held a ham sandwich. “Okay, it’s landfill,” I think. Wait! At the bottom it says “No paper,” so I move on. On the “Compost” sign is a pizza box with some cheese stuck on it and also a paper plate with what looks like a half-eaten corn dog and some mustard on the side. Below it says “No metal, No glass.” This might be the one. Then I look at “Recycle” and I see cardboard without a hint of cheese. No way! I make a rash decision putting it in “Landfill” even though it says “No Paper.” Whew!!
Then I pick up the cardboard box which housed the ham sandwich. “Okay, piece of cake.” I blow off the breadcrumbs ready to put it in recycle and remember “Compost is cardboard with food on it. Hold the phone! The box says “Compostable” on it. That’s a horse of a different color. Do they mean it? My heart beat accelerates. I throw it in “Compost.” I ponder the brown paper napkins which I used, but see no discernible food on them, just a smear of lipstick. It’s paper, but my gut says otherwise, so I toss them in the green bin with abandon. Almost home free. Non, je ne regrette rien.
I hold my empty plastic water cup and feel a headache coming on. Is this recyclable? I know it’s not compost because the chart says “No Plastic.” It could be landfill because I see a drink container on the sign with a straw sticking out but can’t tell if it is plastic or paper — the straw or the cup. I close my eyes and toss, where I’m not sure, and then dash out with my head down, fleeing from those wiser than I am who know their trash from a hole in the ground.
It’s not much better at home. For years I thought that plastic bags and wrappings didn’t belong in landfill so have been saving them in bigger plastic bags and stuffing them in the back of the closet. Recently piled the bags and wrappings in the trunk, drove to Raley’s and found their plastic bag recycle bin. (FYI, it’s on the right side of the entrance.) It said “Bags only.” ”
That’s not what I want,” I whimpered to the manager. “I have reams of plastic that Costco TP and Kleenex come in, plastic tortilla envelopes. They’re bags even though they don’t have handles, bag-like cellophanish pockets. that grapes comes in. “I have — I have…”
“We only take bags that can be recycled,” she says. I take a few cleansing breaths, holding the exhale a bit longer than the inhale, watch my thoughts drift by like clouds, drive home, and stuff the bags back into the closet
I call Republic Services and get a professional, helpful, and patient agent who answers my two pages of questions methodically and without pausing. She really knows her stuff. This is helpful. I scribble down the answers without fully understanding. Like Scarlett, I’ll think about it tomorrow.
I consult with my friend Amy who is a recycling maven. I read her my list of questions, and she thoughtfully pauses before answering each one. Amy arguably knows more about this than anyone, and even she needs to think it through. She admits to once cutting an oily spot out of a paper bag before recycling the bag, but she has grown since then. What about us who are wastefully challenged? She feels my pain. I admire her diligence and love of the planet and wonder if I’m an outlier.
“Did you know you can even pay certain companies to recycle your waste if you want it done correctly?” Amy says. “I’m a scofflaw,” I think.
Ordered some salmon cakes in Berkeley a few days ago that came in what appeared be a compostable cardboard container. It said: “Industrial compostable only. FSC mixed paper. 30% post consumer fiber.” Say what? FSC means it came from a sustainable forest. Lovely! That’s all
well and good. But what about after the tree bites the dust? If a tree falls in the forest and you can’t compost it, does it exist? The container is still on my kitchen counter, daring me to throw it in landfill.
Some conclusions: Our recycling system could be simplified. Nevertheless, California is in the top four states for recycling waste. All paper isn’t created equal or is all plastic. If a plastic bag has a little triangle on it, it’s recyclable at the market. Think twice before using gallons of water to clean something for recycling. At some point it’s counterproductive. (My advice, not Republic’s). Walk the Middle Way.
Instead of Wordle with your morning coffee, ruminate on how to dispose of these imponderables:tea bags and their wrappings — cellophane, foil, paper, and fancy little triangular bags that appear to be made of chiffon, like old prom dresses. Hint: The tea is the easy part. Chinese to-gocardboard containers with — hold on — wire handles. Tin foil pie plates versus tin foil Fritos bags. Yes, they’re different. Paper towels befouled with food. If this sounds difficult, it doesn’t mean you are a low IQ person — necessarily.
If all else fails, go for landfill. There ain’t no mountain high enough.
Letters From Benicia 