Operation Decycle

As you know, my search for a solution to our growing recycling problem ended in failure. I should say, my search for a simple solution. After going through the proper channels of City Hall and our agent (who, I have a feeling, never really contacted the landlord about this), Katherine and I were forced to consider other options. We settled on a covert nighttime mission.

Adopting the plan for its simplicity and sheer cunning, we headed out into the darkness with our recyclables packed into spare shopping bags (which wouldn't arouse suspicion, you see). The idea was to either distribute the items into various city litter bins, or find a dumpster. Heading into the north side, we came across a large blue container labeled "recyclables only" sitting by the curb in front of a business. We decided to take advantage of this unexpectedly easy solution, and, as casually as possible, threw four large bags of recycling into the bin and walked away.

For a few minutes we were simply content with being rid of the garbage. But after walking a few hundred yards Katherine asked me, "There wasn't anything in that with our names and addresses, right?" Oh shit, I thought. After talking it over, we decided yes, there is actually a ton of junk mail with our names and addresses all through those bags. And all the disgruntled business owner would have to do is pick through our recyclables, contact the authorities with the address, and we would be fined for illegal dumping.

If it was difficult to act naturally when leaving the recycling in a bin on a busy street corner, imagine how hard it was to retrieve it. Thankfully, we were spared questioning. On the way back to our apartment we scoped out a large dumpster only a block from our building: we agreed this would be a much better dump site.

After eating dinner we headed back out with the shopping bags of contraband in tow. This time, however, the dumpster was gated and locked. Foiled again and desperate, we resorted to distributing what we had into several of the city-centre trash cans. Thankfully this worked, more or less, without a hitch. There was the awkward moment when I was frantically cramming old cereal boxes into a bin, only to look up and notice a Garda (police) officer sitting in his car watching me. He didn't do anything. I like to think it was the civil authorities' way of finally cutting me a break.

And so the recycling subplot has concluded. A commenter suggested that I take a picture of the pile, but did so after we had already disposed of it. I'm sorry, I should have thought of it myself!