As much as I’ve “grown up” since those turbulent high school/college days, I can still channel the old passive-aggressive douche-bag of yore. This month is a perfect example.
I put my old plastic toilet seat out for recycling with the thought that it probably wouldn’t be accepted (on account of it being a toilet seat), but then again it just might be (on account that it’s plastic).
Turns out toilet seats don’t recycle, since — though all the other items had been collected and taken away — it was left sitting in my bin all by its lonesome.
“Oh, well,” I thought, “I tried.” With a shrug, I retrieved the bin from the front yard and walked inside. And that’s when something inside of me clicked (or snapped. I guess most people would probably say ‘snapped,’ but to me that sounded kind of violent. Moving on…).
It’s All Coming Back
Suddenly, my turbulent youthful self rushed to the forefront, and I decided that I wasn’t going to take this offense, this blatant slap in the face, sitting down (technically, I was standing, but you get the idea).
So I wrapped the seat in a plastic trash bag, dumped it back in the bin, and waited a week to see what would happen.
Again, my recycling was collected and taken away as promised (I should have said “agreed upon”), but there in the bin laid (lied?) my wrapped ‘present’ for the waste management folks. This meant war.
I dismantled the seat and carefully laid (lied?) large sections of it in the bin — strategically placed next to yogurt containers, soda bottles, and tin cans that once held tuna fish and other culinary delights.
Sadly, my ruse was not as, ah… rusey as it could have been (or something), since the seat (now in pieces) was left behind once again.
In a flurry of pent up rage and misdirected aggression (I really need to get a hobby), I cut the remaining seat pieces into teeny, tiny pieces, and then placed them inside the previously detailed (aforementioned?) containers.
I should get a medal for pulling the wool over the recycling peoples’ eyes! Or maybe I should just get a life.
by Bonifacio Santiago
Residential Life Magazine