Recycle - At Your Own Risk

One of the joys of living on the island is being able to visit a local recycling facility. Being the adventurers that we are, we ventured to the Coupeville facility yesterday. We had some hazardous waste and a few other items not welcome at the Bayview or Freeland places. Tim and Mike have been working hard at emptying one of the garages. Most of the stuff in there is left over from the Crispin days...long past usable dates, very toxic and just providing clutter. So we loaded up our trusty Prius with our own recyclables, stuff from Mike and the toxic haul from days long past.

Entering a recycle facility on the island is always an interesting experience. Almost everyone knows the routine and is usually in a hurry. So, parking is a very strategic enterprise. Don't want to be in anyone's way if possible but also don't want to have to be too heavily laden while finding the correct bin. Sure enough as soon as we thought we found a good spot, the recycle domanatrix was there to redirect us. I have to say the women who work at our island recycle centers all seem to share similar personality traits. They must have been made to wear frilly dresses and eat everything from their plates when they were little. And now it's their turn for revenge. "Excuse me, where may I dump these magazines?" "OVER THERE WHERE IT SAYS MAGAZINES." From then on we were followed relentlessly. Obviously we had never recycled before so had to be schooled on everything...at very close range. I would turn around from the CARDBOARD bin and she'd be standing one inch from my face. When I discovered some packing peanuts in one of the boxes, all you know what broke loose. "THOSE ARE GARBAGE. WE DON'T TAKE GARBAGE." And without missing a beat she shook some AA batteries in Tim's face. "DON'T EVER, EVER TRY TO DUMP THESE HERE." He wasn't and he surely never will. When we finally managed to escape we wondered to ourselves what she must be like after work. I pictured her curled up in feet in pajamas with her tabby on her lap, venting about all the ignorant people she had to correct all day. I think she really likes her job.

And then...it was time for Hazardous Materials. We were afraid, very afraid. Who could top Miss Recycling? We wound our way through gates and special lanes and were finally at the assigned location. The place looked a bit like a scene from Mad Max or Brazil. Not a place you'd light a match, for sure.  There we met John (I knew this by his patch which was sewed just a bit crookedly on his giant coveralls.) Terry Gilliam, where ever you are, you need to cast John in your next film. His sly grin and gangly gait were a welcome sight after the feral hiss of "you know who." Perhaps the toxic chemicals created a constant high, who knows. He was helpful and cheerful and even offered to take our GARBAGE. He and Tim chatted as they sorted all manners of toxic chemicals. Nothing was rejected.

We left with an empty car and smiles.