For Christmas, one of Guido’s conspirators friends gave her a compost box. That’s right, one of those green-friendly devices that grows worm shit you’re supposed to spread around the garden to save the earth from the BPs (slogan: All’s “Well”) of the world.
Here’s how this works. Instead of stuffing garbage into your disposal, you chuck it into this lidded aluminum can you keep on your kitchen counter, which you then dump into the compost system for the worms to devour and shit nutrients for your front lawn.
I have a problem with all of this. I remember growing up in a house that had paper sacks on the sink for garbage, to be separated from the trash. That sack – usually a small, double-bagged jobby – would stink like, well, garbage, and soak through if you (me) didn’t run it down the steps timely and toss it into the garbage can – a separate container from the trash can – for pick-up. Every house had both trash cans and garbage cans. Different trucks came by to pick each up. No co-mingling—that violated union policies – even though it all ended up dumped raw into the Delaware River anyway, the region’s source of drinking water. Which explains the Philadelphia personality and the Jersey attitude.
So to me, this compost business and its aluminum can is a throw-back to unhappier times. Guido tells me that just about anything I would have pushed into the garbage disposal, a device I offer thanks to god for every Sabbath – should be tossed in the can instead.
We’re going backwards.
Tonight I’m making our usual dinner, a salad. “What about the garlic paper?” I ask her. “How about the seeds and roughage off this green pepper?”
“In the pail!” she hollers in from the other room where she’s mixing her potients. “Everything but meat and blood.”
“Aaaaaugh!” I scream. “I cut off my finger tip! It’s bleeding like hell! Into the pail?”
“Your finger? What was it doing outside your ass? Put it down the disposal. It’s not compost – you’ll spoil it.” *Exasperated sigh* “Can’t you get anything right?
Right. Wouldn’t wanna harm worms with my flesh and blood. Although be sure the squirmy little fux will be there for my burial.
Can we really save the earth one suppurating corn cob and squash rind at a time? I dunno. Like any good German, I just follow orders and hope to get laid. If using a retro-aluminum pail instead of this hi-tech, sharp-toothed garbage disposal makes Guido happy, who am I to deny her? Next Christmas maybe I’ll get her some garbage bag liners. I know some people, I’ll get a good price.
What about a vegan’s used toilet paper?
Now there’s a thought not worth thinking. Not if I wanna get laid. And I do. Who doesn’t?