This is my very first weblog entry. A maiden voyage of sorts! I have to get something off my chest, and it might as well be now. Yesterday I spent hours sorting the trash in my house. You would think it an easy task. Not so! In Germany, trash is color coordinated. Or at least, it seems that way...
It all comes down to trash management in our household. Forget sweeping the floors, buying nutritious food, or occasionally changing the sheets. The most vital task is keeping the trash in its correct slot. Think I’m kidding? I live in Germany, people. They color-code their trash barrels here.
On certain days I pine for the pre-yellow bag days, the hay day of domestic bliss in this Central European country. It was a time when recycling was your garden variety of returnable glass bottles and recyclable newspapers. I’d look on with admiration as my neighbor neatly stacked his pre-wrapped paper at the curb. Like a Swiss woodcutter who proudly displays his wood pile for everyone to see, my neighbor would wrap his dailies in twine, just like a Christmas package. A clean garbage truck would putter by, and a pristinely dressed, environmentally friendly chap would toss it in the back. Soon after, people discovered the value of mashing old glass bottles into new glass. The glass bottles could be thrown in large, color-coded containers that made a delightful chink sound the moment your old ketchup bottle hit the bottom. The act of recycling your glass offered wholesome simplicity. Green glass went in the green container. White glass in the white, and so on. Everything was fine with this add-on, as well, until one fateful day in the early 90’s. That was the day someone came up with a brilliant idea to recycle plastic bottles, too.
I think that was the moment the higher-ups in the German government had their wigs on too tight. They introduced the green dot system. Anything with a green dot went into a designated yellow bag. Why they couldn’t make the bag color-coordinated to match the green dot, I’ll never know. To make matters worse, trash bags were now grey and blue, another nondistinguishing hue. To add to the color confusion, office paper has to be separated from cardboard. Then there was the issue of compost. In our community, we have two trash barrels: one for non-recyclable trash and one for compost. Under normal circumstances, the barrels are certainly big enough – unless it is clipping season in the garden or if you have an infant that uses disposable diapers. This spring we were faced with double trouble. Our son was not yet potty trained and our hedges needed cutting. There was no fudging the compost trash into the non-recyclable, nor vice versa. When all was said and done, we had to hop on the garbage to make it all fit.
We have lived in Germany long enough to know what is expected of us. We pay our taxes. We shovel our walk in the winter. We are raising upstanding citizens, unless you consider licking the glass at the bank disreputable. All in all, we understand the system, and we deliver.
However, there is something most elusive to my husband and myself about trash pick-up day. It seems as though everyone else in the entire village is informed as to which barrel gets picked up in which week. Usually, it oscillates. One week it is garbage day; the next it is compost day. Throw in the six-week yellow bag rhythm, and you already have us confused. To top off our misery, there are sometimes odd holidays which mess up the schedule altogether. In those weeks, both barrels are picked up simultaneously. This week, in addition to our weekly, “Oh-my-gosh-honey-quick-the-garbage-truck-is-coming-around-the-corner-yank-the-garbage-can-from-its-little-house-and-get-it-to-the-curb-quick-quick-QUICK!” we also experienced major confusion as to which barrel should be picked up when. It looks as though the compost barrel lost out. If you happen to see my husband with egg shells stuck to his pant legs, you’ll know why. Jump, honey, jump!
