Recycling

My family’s weekly trip to the recycling center in Florence, Alabama — shamefully, our own nearby town doesn’t recycle — usually is simply one more item on the to-do list, but every once in awhile we’ll stumble onto a mystery. Such as a recent visit when we found this collection of remote-control toys carefully placed on the recycling altar and bravely waiting the recycling-forklift fate. We were immediately nosy intrigued and wanted the backstory. Were the robot, monster truck and fire engine broken? Was it a punishment: “If you hit your sister one more time, we’re taking your new toys to the recycling center?” Was a revengeful woman somewhere gloating over finally getting rid of her husband’s/boyfriend’s obsessions? Or — and this is the explanation my family favored — had we inadvertently stumbled onto some sort of Toy Story-esque rescue operation that got halted as we humans approached? And as for the Bob Marley poster … well, use your own imagination. I got nothin’ — except to say, “Let’s get together and feel all right.” (Which is the only Bob Marley song I know and that’s because of the Jamaica commercial. But I really like it.)

4 thoughts on “Recycling

  1. Mom and I make a trip to the Florence Center on Sundays. I’m always amazed at some of the stuff that can’t be recycled that is thrown in the bins. I guess I should be happy that some one is making an effort to recycle, even though their stuff lands up in the landfill.

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