Because, fucking hell, every goddamned place I go has four different types of trash cans, which *just enough* people don’t give a fuck about/are confused about as to confuse me about “the rules.” And of course, everyone else–the ones who did it right–are on hand to thoroughly judge me for my mistakes:

“THAT plastic is NOT okay to recycle, you fucking imbecile.”

“But…it’s plastic.  This is the bin labelled Everything Else – No Glass!

“It’s a clamshell! OBVIOUSLY that’s not recyclable. I mean, DUH.”

“What if I break it apart…?”

“*aggrieved sigh*  Just…go play in the sandbox, okay?  Let the grown-ups fix this for you.”

“Yay!  Can I have a lollipop?”

“Only if you compost the stick.”


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