If you read my blog, you know I'm into CFL bulbs
. There's only one drawback with them -- when they're done, you have to make sure to bring them to a recycling center (store, etc.) instead of throwing them in the trash. Due to the mercury inside the bulbs, you could not only harm the planet, but kill someone in the process.
Well, I live in a small town and couldn't find a place to recycle the ONE bulb my husband blew while doing some controlled motor experiment for the vent in the bathroom. This was weeks ago and he still hasn't fixed it. Anyhow, husband wanted to take our chances by just throwing it in the trash and killing unsuspecting garbageman, but I begged to differ.
The little bulb sat on a shelf in my bathroom until FINALLY I saw on our local television station that it was time for the once-a-year county-wide hazardous waste recycling event AND they mentioned CFL bulbs, flashed a number and added, 'Only by appointment,' which is weird. I mean, you're basically making an appointment to get rid of hazardous wastes. Wastes people usually just throw in the trash (disguised in boxes and paper bags) or throw along the sides of the road and or in the forest because, "It's easier than going through all the hassle."
And oh dear Lord of the Flies, you are right, Planet Polluters, it IS a hassle. It took FOUR different calls on FOUR different days to reach the ONE person who could actually make the appointment for me. I felt like I was now being patched through to the Great and Powerful Oz. I was nervous, even excited, imagining the flames leaping up from each side of the curtain. The booming voice, insane white hair, but in reality ... an extremely rude man-voiced woman picked up instead:
Her (think Momma from "Throw Momma From the Train" without odd lisp): Yes?
Me: Yes, I'm calling for the hazardous waste event ... to make an appointment.
Me again: I saw it on TV, I've called because of the number that was flashing on the screen because ...
Her (interrupting): Yes, yes, I know. You don't need to go on ... I'm looking for your date.
Me: Ah, then I'll make sure not to tell my husband. (Silence. Get it, bloggers? Date. She's looking for my date. Ah well.)
Me: OK. Saturday is good.
Her (actually yelling at me as if I rammed into the back of her heel with a cart, which is rather impossible since we're both on the phone in separate locations. I'm in the kitchen at my home, she's in Hell.): What TIME on Saturday?
Me: Well ...
Her (interrupting yet again): NO, what time between 9am and noon?
Me (trying to put nonchalant tone in voice like I don't notice her rudeness or interruptions): 10 am.
Her (loudly): 9:45!
Me (wondering how she could get 9:45 confused with 10): No, 10am is fine.
Her (clearly exasperated): No, 9:45 will be your time. Now, what are you bringing?
Me: A CFL light bulb.
Me (trying to fill silence): It's a fluorescent bulb. Mercury. Little. Energy-efficient. Not a regular bulb ...
Her (angry): I know what it is, but is that it?
Me (wanting to sound less stupid for caring about one bulb and the garbageman): Well, no, do I need a list? I mean, I'm sure my husband has paint cans, maybe polyurethane cans. Lots of hazardous stuff he's forgotten about, really toxic stuff, but I just have the one bulb.
Her (done with me now): Ok, OKAY, 9:45 Saturday, but not THIS Saturday, the FOLLOWING Saturday. Not THIS one. Got it?
Me: 9:45 on the 11th, which is the Saturday after ...
Me: 9 ...
Her: Yeah, yeah, good enough. :::click:::
And this is why deviants everywhere are throwing batteries, computer parts, oil, paint, bulbs, nuclear reactors and everything else in the trash.
I think not only should recycling workers HAVE to be nice, but they should also thank EACH and EVERY person who calls to make an appointment. It should be a hearty THANK YOU FOR HELPING TO MAKE THE PLANET A BETTER PLACE, but hey, that's just me.
You owe me bigtime, garbageman. However, not throwing my garbage cans and their tops like it's an Olympic competition will suffice.
Labels: hazardous waste, mean women I want to strangle, recycling