My Solidly Wasteful Journey

A Week in the Life of My Trash Can

By Alison Grey, 10-06-07

It’s hard to imagine that nestled in the foothills of the Bridger Range, adjacent to million dollar homes and a picturesque golf course, is a landfill filled with millions of tons of Bozeman’s solid waste. And within that tonnage of garbage, is a lifetime contribution of my own daily consumption, all beginning with my dirty diapers.

Like many landfills around the country, Bozeman’s is nearing capacity and closure is imminent, forcing local city and county officials to re-examine what to do with the mass accumulations of solid waste that continues to pour in daily.

According to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, we produce 230 million tons of municipal solid waste per year in the United States; or about 4.6 pounds per person daily.

That means, that in my 25 years as a user, consumer and abuser, I’ve made quite the contribution, adding some 40,000 pounds of waste to our municipal landfills.

Frankly, I’ve never thought much about my garbage, and would rather have someone else deal with it. It’s that wonderful ‘out of sight and out of mind’ philosophy that has done wonders in the world on both an environmental and humanitarian front.

Distraught by this attitude, I decided to subject myself to what I’ve termed as my “social experiment.” For one week, I pledged to save everything I threw away, including recyclables, forcing myself to confront and examine my daily impact on the world.

Day 1: I unveil the social experiment to my roommates. They are somewhat speechless, perhaps borderline agitated, after I tell them my trash is to remain in the pantry for the entire week in a separate bag. Despite any lingering odors, it is to remain untouched. I tell them we’re doing this for the greater good, which doesn’t seem to inspire them in the slightest.

Later, I cook breakfast, and am somewhat disturbed by the excitement I feel when I throw away the first piece of waste, an eggshell. I’m feeling enthusiastic. Let the collecting begin!

Day 2: I throw away three credit card offers, which amount to eight pieces of paper and three envelopes. Usually, I don’t even look at the offers, but I do notice that Discover has approved me for a $29,000 credit line.

Puzzling, considering I am unemployed, can barely pay my rent, and blew most of my money on an Italian adventure. Anyways, junk mail and bills are taking an early lead, which I realize, I never recycle.

Day 3: Discovery of the day: I eat a lot of eggs. I wonder if nine eggs in three days is healthy for my cholesterol. The experiment is taking a somewhat psychological turn, and is beginning to take a toll on me.

I find a Taco Bell wrapper mocking me from the top of the pile. I can barely look at it. I try to console myself that I am not a bad person for succumbing to corporate America; it was a moment of temporary hung-over weakness.

I find myself constantly paranoid that I’ll forget to throw something in the correct receptacle and begin to ponder all of the waste that I can’t account for. I find myself facing a moral dilemma with every trip to the bathroom; the toilet paper is waste.

However, if our house smelled like urine, I might find myself homeless. I decide that living quarters outweigh social justness.

This is getting more difficult. All I can think about is trash, and I find myself consciously thinking of how I can use less of it.

Day 4: I go out to dinner and enjoy a greasy burger and French fries. Besides the foil the burger was served on, the three plastic cups of ranch I requested, I go through six napkins.

The waitress comes to clear the table, and I find myself glaring at her. I begin to formulate plans to distract her while I stuff all the grease laden trash in my purse. Alas, when she comes, pressures to be socially normal override my experiment, and I watch silently as she walks away with my plate. 

Later, I take inventory of my collections: a toothpaste container, a plastic shampoo bottle, a chip bag, an assortment of random papers and an over abundance of cheep beer cans. I find it most interesting what I’m lacking; food products.

Day 5: Discovery: I produce less waste when I am broke. I don’t eat out as much, and am forced to search the pantry. I’m too cheap to buy napkins, so I use dish towels. When I cook, I save everything for leftovers. I even reuse plastic containers as a form of Tupperware.

Unemployment directly corresponds to me being a better steward of the environment. The less I buy, the less I throw away, the less I drive my car, the less I eat, the less trips I have to the bathroom, the more trees I save using less toilet paper and the less water I waste flushing.

Day 6: Disaster Strikes. My garbage is missing. There are plastic cups strewn about my living room, a beer can is in between the couch cushions and a lovely wine stain is on my curtain; the filthy aftermath of a house party.

This is a low moment. My feet are sticking to the kitchen floor and my social experiment is gone. I run to alley in search of the dumpster, but realize it’s already heading to the landfill. In the chaos of the party, the trash bags all became one. Thus, the end of the experiment, one day early.

Day 7: A time for recollection. Despite the tragic end to my experiment, my major revelation is that a high percentage of my waste is recyclable, probably 60 percent or so.

By putting a little more thought and effort into it, I could reduce my solid waste by a huge margin. I also realize, that the more aware I am of what I’m throwing away, the less I use.

Despite the slight bouts with paranoia, psychological introspection and the disastrous Day 6, I’ve deemed my social experiment successful: Instead of blindly tossing things in the trash, I am more aware of my waste and how to decrease it.

Now, if I could just get that wine stain out of the curtain.

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