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My husband thinks that the cost of driving our bottles and cans to the new recycling facility at will negate any funds we earn. What do you think?
Mrs CK, Boat Harbour
Dear Mrs CK,
I encountered this joyful experience last week when I used the facility for the first time. It was important for me to load the entire family in the car and reminisce about the good old days when we crushed cans and received pocket money for them. I spoke fondly about raiding garbage bins and designing can crushers with my friends. The backseat crew seemed unimpressed.
When we rounded the first corner of our journey, the recycling tubs in the boot tipped over, and the combined stench of stale beer, chardonnay and ginger ale filled the car.
Still, I persevered, arriving at the car park, only to realise, in the 35-degree heat, that there were no parks. I ended up on the other side of the centre, and we walked with our bins of trash to the recycling facility.
There we met a lovely man who said, “The bloody thing is full again. You’ll have to come back later, love.”
We carried our cans back to the car and did some shopping (not too much, as there was no space in the boot to put it).
When we were leaving, there was a new crowd of people and the conveyor belts were operational again (only two of them, the others had malfunctioned).
We found another park and stood in the queue, only realising at that point that there were separate machines for glass and plastics (of course ours were jumbled together). Wine bottles were also prohibited (that cut our recyclables in half).
Finally, after another 20 minutes, we had our time in the sun. First the cans and then the plastic bottles (but not the ones we had crushed – the conveyor belt didn’t accept them).
With about 20 cans to go, the machine inexplicably rejected us. I told the kids to get a refund from Woolies, as my desire to donate was overruled. The kids returned with a handful of coins. They looked dejected. They wanted Maccas. We bought two drinks (they wanted ice-cream, but the machine was broken). We received them in non-recyclable containers. I started singing ‘isn’t it ironic’ and the excursion was over.
Hey, Mrs CK, don’t listen to your husband. Do what you think is best.