Wednesday, February 13, 2008


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One of the chores that we always fight about in the FunBox household is who will have to recycle the cans. We want to do our part and take pollution down to zero, you know, cause saving our planet is the thing to do, but man, the recycling huts in L.A. are terrible. Sure they are sticky, smell bad, and are over run with bees and homeless people, but there is one particular instance which has made me almost give up drinking delicious canned soda and beer all together.

It started off like any other recycling trip. I loaded a ridiculous amount of cans into a shopping cart and reflected that man, FunBox drinks a lot of delicious canned soda and beer. I wheeled it over to the little recycling hut, waves of putrid sweetness hanging heavy in the air. At one deposit it machine there was a line two people deep. The other machine was beeping furiously with a “Out of Order” message flashing on its display. I got into line.

The gentleman in front of me turned to me in a pleasant enough manner and gave me the universal recycling cans is a pain nod. I nodded back and went back to thinking about anything other than the fact that it smelled like the inside of a trashcan. The woman at the front of the line was furiously shoving cans into the hole when she let out an “Oh no.” This machine had started beeping with an “Out of Order” message too. She wheeled her half full cart sadly away.

The gentleman in front of me turned back to me shaking his head in disbelief, “This always happens. They really need to take better care of these machines. I mean every time I’m here they break. It just makes me SO ANGRY!” It was at this point that he hulked out. He flipped over his shopping cart and sent cans flying everywhere with a deafening rattle. Looking around for the next item to feel his wrath, he grabbed the nearby trash can and hurled it at the hut. He was SO ANGRY.

I gripped my cart hard and tried to slowly back away without attracting attention to myself. Silently I slipped away as the rampage went on, thankful at that moment that I had avoided wearing any bright shiny objects that day.

You’ll now understand why when it’s my turn to do the recycling I tiptoe up to the hut and leave the bag a couple feet away like some sort of green minded Santa. Screw the $1.35.