I was out on a jaunt to pick up litter this morning. The most common items I collect are transit tickets, fast food wrappers and coffee cups. Honest to God, if Starbucks, McDonalds and Subway paid you five cents for every used paper coffee cup or wrapper you returned to their moneymaking stores, they would get kudos and goodwill and there’d be a lot less litter on the street and in my backyard.
I usually stick to the block round the house but today, feeling a little more adventurous, I wandered down the street towards the BlogTrain (our trusty light rail system, not without problems, but that’s a story for another day). Today’s haul, besides copious amounts of paper litter: two rather menacing looking used syringes, one Sleeman’s beer bottle, three pairs of brand new shoes and three little round silver tins with what looked like purple plasticine packed inside. In this age of terror, thoughts of plastic explosive came to mind - yes, I've been watching too many Bruce Willis movies - but closer inspection of the label indicated it was playdo. And yes, I wear gloves to pick up this dubious collection.
The shoes were dumped behind a tree. A pair of black high heels, a pair of white court shoes and some rather snazzy running shoes. The BlogTrain line connects with a shopping centre a few stops away so I assume they were stolen from there. So what’s the deal – you steal stuff, decide what you can fence then dump the rest? The shoes were not in boxes and there was no store identification so not exactly something I could report to the police. They've also been exposed to the pouring rain we've been having for the last few days. I put them out neatly in a row in the hopes that someone would pick them up and take them home. Granted they need to be dried out and thoroughly cleaned. But surely someone could give those sexy black heels a run for their money on the dance floor at the All Night Jazz Club?
As I laid them out by the hedgerow beside the station, a light bulb went on. There’s a house opposite the station with a low hedge. Every so often I’ve seen clothes strewn on the hedge, sometimes for days, and I’ve wondered what that was all about. OtherHalf suggested it was some kind of art project with attitude. Yes, thankyou, next suggestion? But now I reckon that folks dump stolen property in the front yard, and that’s his way of getting people to take it away. Stolen goods –on the hedge - free to good home.
OK, a quick summary of where I stand on litter. I pick it up. It’s also a good way to get to know my neighbours and talk to people. I’m also a believer in the broken window syndrome. The people who have tendency to commit crime usually need something tip the balance between committing and not committing the crime. They see a broken window, they think rule and order has gone the way of the dodo, so it’s ok to break windows, and worse. So it goes for litter. Litter on the ground begets litter. Malcolm Gladwell, quoting various academics, has written quite extensively about this in his book called The Tipping Point.
So next time I go on the neighbourhood litter pickup maybe there will be one less syringe, two tins of purple playdo instead of three and maybe those black high heels will be kicking up a storm somewhere else. I hope so.
That’s it for today. See you again soon.
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