In New York City, one is constantly bombarded by new sights, sounds, and definitely smells….but until you live here, you don’t really experience the full cornucopia of strange and exotic experiences. And no, I’m not talk about pre-Giuliani Times Square. I’m talking about Garbage.
When you stuff roughly 5.5 million people (statistic STRAIGHT from the Chelsea queen tour guide on the double decker bus) into the island of Manhattan on any given day, there is going to be an onslaught of refuse. In fact, there is so much that if it organized, we’d have a serious trash union to battle Obama/McOlddude as a third party. But I digress…
First of all, in my neighborhood, one doesn’t feel the pull to use the trash cans on EVERY corner. The world is your trashcan. This city takes its toll and one can’t POSSIBLY be bothered to walk the extra ten feet with one’s trash to the receptacle. It’s really just too much to ask. Plus, it wouldn’t leave anything for the street sweepers or the morning porter to do.
Perhaps the one thing that either will support or negate the creationism/big bang debate is the mysterious puddles of viscous goo that this trash seems to create. It may not have rained for four weeks, but you will still find large puddles that smell like nothing you have ever experienced. I just KNOW some creature is being formulated in that stew. I have my theories that in the night, these new forms of life squiggle out, find some garbage to munch on for their formative nutrients, and then move to Jersey. But they still feel the call of the puddle, so they commute, creating more trash (a form of proliferation, no?). Just a theory though. The smell, however, is not.
Now, we must move into the dwelling space of most New Yorkers (those who don’t have puddles of their own, or a car in Jersey). We, as part of our agreements for our rental spaces, get our trash removed for free. We just take it downstairs and the lovely Super compiles it, and the city comes and picks it up. (Incidentally, they do this for the street trash cans too, but my neighborhood doesn’t care.) What I cannot understand is WHY the people that live upstairs do not utilize this service. Instead, they choose to throw it out their window. Are we living in 17th century Paris? Oh, we aren’t? Well, then someone please explain to me why I have an eclectic mix on my window sills and air-conditioners from the apartments above. At the moment, there is an old metrocard, a doo-rag, a bra-strap, a stainless steel scrubber sponge, and a saltine. It doesn’t get more United Nations than that, folks.
Sometimes I get a little frustrated that I can’t compost here as I am doing all I can to reduce my own waste. However, I think I just need to shift my perspective and maybe try to see the golden lining in the actions of my neighbor. Maybe I should look at the city as MY compost pile. Now all I have to do is start throwing my coffee grounds and eggshells out my kitchen window. I think the woman who hangs her laundry outside below me will eventually come around….
Umm, this story is brilllllllliant, my dear Christinoire. Brilliant…and appetizing. Nothin’ like multicultural, ethnic trash to get a girl’s palette pumpin’. Hmm, do I want Chinese, or Indian? But please don’t throw your trash out the window. Transgressive peeps must learn from your example, not vice versa. Also, if you start throwing sh*t out your window, some other historically Parisian activity might make a comeback: p*ssing out your window. And I doubt you’re really in the mood for a golden shower on your way into work in the morning. OR EVER.
Now, what is this about an opera in October?!?!?!?!? A little Allison-birdy told me, and enquiring minds want to know. Especially if it’s in NYC and I can come?