A Memorable Exit
I have not always been a friend to the earth. (Hey, I'm a Southern girl. I love some hair spray, and as much as it pains me to say it, there's no hold like the hold that comes from an aerosol can. The rest just can't compete.)
But, a few years ago, I decided to make a concentrated effort to be a better citizen of the planet. I'm by no means perfect, but I found that once I started recycling, it became easier and easier to do little things to reduce my carbon footprint.
I try my best to get all of my mixed paper, plastic, aluminum and glass down to the recycling center, and I never set my heat above 68 degrees in the winter. I also may have gone a little insane on the "reuse" part -- I knit from plastic bags, make cork wreaths and turn bottle caps and lids into chains and magnets. (I can just imagine fewer and fewer people looking forward to gifts from me as they read that.)
I'm also a big fan of making it easier for people to recycle. The more I recycle, the more it pains me to throw away anything that could be recycled. But, the neat freak/germ phobic part of me also disdains the idea of carrying around a dirty soda can or sticky bottle in my purse when there's no recycling bin to dispose of it in.
This next story follows directly from that inner conflict of mine:
The last company I worked for did not have recycling bins for anything other than mixed paper. Their reasoning? It attracted too many bugs and was messy. My response? Messier than plain, old trash? Really?
Anyway, at the time (and until I decided to wean myself a few days ago), I had a nasty diet soda habit. Two per day was my minimum, and on those days when I was particularly tired or dragging, I could hit three, easy.
At the beginning of each week, I would bring in a 12-pack of either Diet Coke or Diet Dr. Pepper (my drugs of choice) and store them in the file cabinet and drawers behind my desk. (I like to keep most of my records on the computer and back-up disks, so I didn't use the file cabinet for much.) And every day, when I was done with my soda, I would wash out the empty can and put it back in the same file cabinet and drawers with the intention of running everything to the recycling center when I got a chance.
Well, that trip to the recycling center kept getting put off, and the cabinet just filled up with more and more cans. This probably would have been fine and just turned into a weekend trip to the office to clean out the cabinet had I not been laid off.
Newly jobless with a cardboard box in front of me for my personal belongings, I also found myself faced with no less than 200 or so empty soda cans. What's a girl to do?
1) Leave the cans right where they were. What did I care? I didn't have a job anymore, and legally, I don't think you can mention someone's potential hoarding when called for a job reference. The problem? It's not like management would be the one cleaning out my office, and the cleaning crew was too sweet for me to leave such a mess for. I wouldn't do that to them, and even I'm not that unprofessional (i.e., management, leaving a company).
2) Pile those cans into the largest trash bag I could find and carry them right out to my car with everything else. Yep, in a building where no one had cubicles, and all of the employees overlooked a common space, I would carry my large, clanging, commercial-size trash bag out with me as I handed in my badge and parking pass to the security guard. I may not have much dignity, but even I couldn't face being remembered as that employee.
3) Take the back stairs and throw all of the cans into the dumpster, wasting all of the potential energy that would have come from recycling the aluminum.
Needless to say, in the end, I chose option three, and I've felt guilty ever since. But, on one of my worst career days, looking like the Santa Claus of the gutter as I left the building for the last time just wasn't a realistic option. I've been doing my best to make it up to Mother Earth ever since. Former plastic bag wine tote, anyone?