Remember the good old days, when we could help ourselves to some SpaghettiO's and just throw the can away afterward? What's with this whole "recycling" fad? Aren't we overdoing it? What next-will we be using toilet paper once, then setting it aside to reuse the next time we have to tinkle?
In my parents' house, we have a bag of old underwear that we reuse as dust rags. My mother thinks that, despite the holes and stains, the underwear is perfectly fine. When will it stop?
With so many magazines and newspapers featuring ways to "go green," our consciences can no longer let it slide when we toss away an empty plastic water bottle. At least, mine can't. And if other people's consciences don't prick them, I'll do the pricking for them.
I spend a great deal of time at my friends' house. Whenever I pass by the kitchen trash bins, I reach inside and retrieve aluminum cans or plastic bottles. "What's this?" I say, as if confronting a dog that just piddled on the carpet. "What did I tell you about this?" Then I march the offending cans outside to the recycling bin. I don't think my friends appreciate my help.
But how can they live with themselves? Don't they have "green guilt"?
The May 2008 issue of "O: The Oprah Magazine" introduces "green guilt," the new psychological problem facing Americans. Brooke K. Glassberg writes, "As if in-laws, bosses and religion didn't provide enough guilt to last a lifetime, these days we're beating ourselves up for formerly mindless infractions like pitching a soda can into the garbage."
I have succumbed to green guilt, myself. It's reached the point where I can't take a 15-minute shower anymore, knowing how much water I'm wasting. I turn the water off when I'm lathering up my hair or myself, and only turn it on when I'm rinsing. I end up shivering in the shower stall without the steady stream of warm water, but I shiver self-righteously.
What happens when "green guilt" morphs into "green judgment?" I know of a girl who refuses to drink out of the water fountains in residence halls, because the water comes out cloudy. Instead she buys water bottles by the case, and probably only uses them once. To she who shall remain nameless: I'm sorry I couldn't confront you about this in person, but your wastefulness means our friendship has to end.
I was raised in a home where milk gallon jugs were rinsed and recycled. When I discovered that other families don't follow this rule, I felt sorry for them, almost as though they were sinners who weren't "saved." But I'm sure people look at me and shake their heads when they realize I leave my computer plugged in and turned on all night. I am now the sinner who needs saved. I am the one destroying the planet.
I try. I really do. Last weekend, I chose to ride my bike a couple miles to a friend's apartment. I was saving money, gas and the Earth. I rode back to campus in the black of night, which led me to ride over some broken glass, which led me to get a flat tire, which led me to walk my bike the rest of the way home.
See? This is what happens when you go green, when you get green guilt. Let this be a lesson. Don't ride your bike when you can drive. Don't recycle when you can throw away. And don't reuse when you can use something once...especially if that "something" is toilet paper. t&c;
SARAH MARTINDELL IS A SENIOR ENGLISH MAJOR AND COLUMNIST FOR THE t&c.;
