A Pile of Trouble

A trip to the recycling center prompted this piece of nonsense.

I did a bad thing today. I brought a pile of newspapers to the recycle center. What’s so bad about that? Here's what: the pile was untied, the papers loose, in direct violation of the instructions issued by our town's Supreme Recycling Authority: Bundle and cross-tie newspapers with inserts. I deftly placed the untied papers underneath a bundle previously tied in the proper manner, and placed them in the trailer at the recycle center. Laziness overcame me this morning, plus it was nearing noon when the place would close. I was desperate, not thinking straight, thus foolishly carried out this defiant, possibly criminal, act. All throughout the two minute ride back to my house, I checked the rear view mirror, terrified that I had been spotted by the Recycle Man on duty, or by another town resident who could not let this deed go unreported.

What do I do? The guilt is beginning to overwhelm me. I’ve never murdered someone, but that can’t feel much worse; chances are the murder victim deserved it, and the world is better off as a result. No good can possibly come from my terrible act; it is a direct affront to authority, a clear disregard for civic duty and the rule of law, not to mention the norms of neatness.

Do I turn myself in, throw myself upon the mercy of the municipal officials and townspeople? With good behavior I could be released in, oh, two or three hours. Or do I flee, become a fugitive like Dr. Richard Kimball, pursued by some obsessive recycling cop hell-bent on capturing me and putting me away for good -- Chatham’s version of Lieutenant Gerard. At least Richard Kimball knew he was innocent of his wife’s murder; he just had to find the one-armed man he saw fleeing the scene. I have no “one-armed man” defense, no basis to claim innocence, no other human being on whom to pin this offense.

No, the life of a fugitive is not for me; the hours are unpredictable and the fringe benefits not at all sufficient. To hell with it, a few loose newspapers, big deal. It’s not like I failed to rinse out bottles, jars and cans. Let them come after me, but they’re in for a fight; they won’t take me alive. We all must face our mortality, and declare for what cause, noble or ludicrous, we are willing to pay the ultimate price. This particular one happens to be ludicrous, no question, yet I shall stand my ground, I won’t back down, and I won’t use any more Tom Petty lyrics. I’ll be remembered, celebrated in these parts for years to come as The Recycle Rebel. Come and get me, pigs, but try not to knock over the container at curbside filled with aluminum cans, glass bottles and jars, plastic bottles, and steel cans, all placed together in one container in compliance with your posted requirements? Thank you.