PETER BUFFA -- Comments & Curiosities

It’s garbage I tell you. Garbage. I promised I’d let you know how

things went when they took my big black can away. Today, I fulfill that

promise.

You may recall that in July of this very year, the Costa Mesa Sanitary

District confiscated our black cans and gave us green cans in their

stead. Sound trucks drove around the city for days and blared their

message from giant speakers: “People of Costa Mesa, get your cans out

here.”

No they didn’t. I made that up. They sent a nice letter explaining the

whole program. Now, after two months of exhaustive research,

investigation and interviews with thousands of residents -- OK, two

residents -- my report is ready.

I miss my black can. I really do. It was a manly can. It had a big,

heavy lid that swung open like a barn door. Big? I’ll give you big. When

it was empty, you could just make out the bottom. It was like peering

into an old well. You could fit a mountain of tree trimmings, a week’s

trash and seven of those stupid box bottoms you end up with every time

you go to CostCo in there and still slam the lid shut.

It was a dumpster on wheels, which is a really bad analogy because a

dumpster is on wheels, but you know what I mean.

The new green cans are wimpy. I’m sorry, but they are. They have a

little sissy-girlie lid that weighs about 8 ounces and doesn’t close

right. Worse yet, the lid can easily come loose and fall off completely.

The workmanship and materials are sorely inferior to the big black

cans. Does anyone take pride in their work anymore? Apparently not.

But the cans are only part of the problem. Adjusting to the new

collection policy is even more difficult.

Until further notice, you must use your official, district-issue cans

only. You can drag out those beat-up rubber things you bought at

Builder’s Emporium 20 years ago if you want. But you’ll be dragging them

back inside the gate as soon as the truck rumbles down the street and out

of sight. No good, not, ixnay, don’t even bother.

But here is the core of the problem. If you want something to go away,

transported to a place where it will never be seen again -- you have to

put it in your can. Whatever it is, from an apple core to a dead azalea.

Inside, good. Outside, bad. This changes everything. It alters forever

the cycle of life. It tampers with the primal forces of nature.

No plastic bags, no small boxes, no nothing. If it’s not in your can,

it’s going nowhere, fast or slow. In the can or not at all. Period. End

of story. Fade out.

Granted, there were those (and you know who you are) who abused the

privilege of putting out a little extra trash on the big day now and

then. You would see the occasional broken recliner or 6-foot pile of palm

fronds or mound of cinder blocks leaning against a small army of trash

cans, authorized and otherwise.

Those of us who take pride in our refuse management skills would like

to thank the few, inconsiderate tossers for ruining it for everyone.

But heavens to Betsy (who is Betsy?), the current policy is draconian

(it means real bad) and, I predict, will generate a rising tide of

protest from law-abiding citizens.

I’m sure the in-your-can policy was developed for good reason. Drivers

should not have to spend 10 minutes at one house dealing with two metric

tons of who knows what and emptying seven trash cans by hand.

But is there no compromise, no middle ground? No mutually acceptable

alternative whereby hauler and haul-ee can share their ideals, their

dreams and their vision for a place where all kinds of garbage are

welcome? Is that so much to ask?

Let’s face facts. No matter how hard you try, no matter how clever you

are, you simply cannot fit everything in your can. It is physically

impossible.

Let’s say you’re throwing a birthday party or it’s Christmas morning.

When the last guest is finally gone, not only are you greatly relieved,

but you are faced with a mountain of bows and wrapping paper and gift

cards. What do you do with it? Can’t burn it, can’t recycle it, gotta

toss it.

You get a Hefty trash bag and jam it all in there. It’s neat, clean,

tied up and weighs about a quarter of a pound. But, if you are forced to

put that bag in your can, that’s it, dude. That can is done, finished,

full. Try again next week.

Meanwhile, what do you do with the real trash, the yucky stuff that

emanates from the kitchen? The stuff that drives cats and possums into a

state of modified rapture? Answer me that.

You can yank that bag of birthday droppings out of your can and

replace it with the real trash, but what happens to the birthday stuff?

Do you see what I’m saying? It’s an impossible problem.

Here’s my suggestion. No one would dare suggest we go back to the days

of driveway anarchy, but how about this. In addition to your green cans,

as flimsy as they are -- sorry, that was petty -- every trash-minded

citizen is allowed to put out one small box and one trash bag. Grossly

overweight boxes or bags will be summarily rejected at the discretion of

the driver.

Yes, it is a return, albeit a slight one, to the policies of the past,

but what is a pilot program for, I ask you. And don’t say “pilots.” If

there are any other significant social issues that we should deal with,

let me know. I’m here to help. I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Sundays.

He may be reached via e-mail at [email protected].