Diary of Confused Conservationist

Diary of a Confused Conservationist

September 5: Have volunteered for 3R committee at work. Not sure what group is for, but noticed is headed by intriguing new personnel manager.

Sept. 15: Have discovered 3R stands for reduce, reuse, recycle (nothing to do with rest and relaxation, as originally hoped). Intriguing new personnel manager is, during his off‐hours, a rabid environmental activist who has issues with our company's sixteen dumpsters in back alley. Saw him looking at my take‐out deli salad container sadly. Then Jane from purchasing sallied up and offered him a 'vegetable medley' from her organic garden, tossed with olive oil and locally sourced hazelnuts.

In six years working with Jane, do not recall being offered so much as an old carrot stick.

Sept. 24: First lunch‐hour meeting of 3R committee. Dutifully took sandwich in reusable plastic container, but this launched lengthy discussion between Jane and Simon (intriguing new personnel manager) about potential hormonal effects of chemicals leaching into food from plastic. Didn't know what they were talking about, so without thinking launched witticism about plastic being probable cause of new hairs on my upper lip. Realized as they both turned and studied my girl‐moustache that this was not an effective way to have self seen in flattering light.

Oct. 2: Saw Jane and Simon leaving together after work. Aren't there laws against workplace relationships? I am feeling harrassed, even if they aren't.

Oct. 11: Jane held forth at coffee machine about the documentary she and Simon saw last night. Forgot what I was doing and grabbed plastic stick to stir coffee, rather than copying Jane and putting milk in cup first and then pouring coffee so no stirring is required. Threw stick crossly towards garbage, but missed and it landed on floor just as Simon came in. He picked it up and handed it to me; wasn't sure if he expected me to wash it off and save it for re‐use this afternoon, so I slipped it discreetly into pocket just in case.

Does Jane have nothing better to do with her time than devise low‐footprint ways of stirring her drinks?

Oct. 18: Cannot out‐green Jane, who came to work this morning in pumps, the heels of which she had re‐soled with bits of her old bicycle tire. Fine. She and Simon were made for each other. I will not think about him any more.

Oct. 19: Except I believe he would be happier with me.

Oct. 20: But he has made his decision and I shall let it go at that.

Oct. 21: I wonder if he has noticed that Jane is a little too perky in the morning.

Oct. 22: Decide that Simon has not had the chance to get to know me properly. In the spirit of giving it one more shot I volunteered to be the 'holistic holiday' coordinator for the company. Apparently this means I am to dispense wisdom about how to celebrate the season with as little environmental impact as possible. This will give me the chance to display that I, too, can not only be green, but perky and festive. Just not as early in the morning as Some People.

Nov. 1: Sent around reminders that Christmas is two months away, and employees should consider gift shopping online to decrease their driving needs this season.

"But remember, don't over‐buy ‐ reducing is the first R," Jane chimed in (uninvited), just before pointing out that posting one notice on the bulletin board would have been preferable to the copies I had (kindly and perkily) handed out to everyone.

I think I hate her, but as that is not a festive thought, I will not record it here. Ooops, too late.

Nov. 15: In the spirit of planning ahead, am working on the menu for the Christmas after‐work drinks party so as to forestall last‐minute panic. Given the amount of lead time, I have committed to making the appetizers at home (with local ingredients), rather than relying on preassembled, over‐packaged processed treats from big box stores. Am thinking for example of making homemade salsa from heirloom tomatoes (which, as it turns out, does not refer to tomatoes that have been left in the fridge for so long that they pass as antiques).

Nov. 20: Have posted a notice (one) on bulletin board stating that as no one needs more useless crap gifts, our Secret Santa present exchange will this year involve giving the gift of a song or story or experience, i.e. I will clean out the lunchroom fridge for you (with baking soda) when it's your turn to do it. People are looking at me with thinly disguised annoyance, but I tell them to embrace this opportunity to exercise their creative minds (v. holistic advice).

Dec. 1: Have posted another notice (one) stating that if people must buy new electronics for Christmas, to ensure old ones are disposed of responsibly. Have offered to keep bin at my desk for people to drop off unwanted computers, cell phones, rechargeable batteries, etc, for recycling. Am hoping that will give Simon excuse to come by.

Dec. 2: Bin is already full of broken printers and hard drives. Have put out two more empty crates. That should be enough.

Dec. 3: Was not able to access desk this morning, covered as it was with various electronics. Quantity rather shocking; where does this stuff end up?

Dec. 4: Occurs to me rather belatedly that it is my job to find out where this stuff ends up. So far have been operating on rather vague notion that I will find proper disposal place when time comes.

Dec. 5: Was flipping through Yellow Pages looking for "Toxic Waste Pick‐Up Services" (v. hard to find) when Jane popped into my workspace, which is now located in igloo‐like structure composed solely of stacked electronic discards (couldn't fit more bins beside my desk as Fire Safety Monitor said they were blocking the corridor). "Thought you might need this," Jane trilled, dropping pamphlet onto my desk for the Encorp electronics recycling depots. "And don't forget www.freegeekvancouver.org." Bemused, asked her why geeks were being kept in captivity and heard someone laughing at my igloo door. Guess who had chosen just that moment to drop off his batteries.

Dec. 10, 6 p.m.: With sense of horror I discover that Christmas party is tomorrow (lack of calendar/window in e‐waste igloo means I have not noticed passage of days). Must finalize menu.

Dec. 10, 11:58 p.m.: And buy organic wine.

Dec. 11, 2 a.m.: Wonder which farm is currently producing heirloom tomatoes. Look outside bedroom window and notice first snow falling; v. festive.

Dec. 11, 6:30 a.m.: Up early as much to do. While I have been taking public transit of late in effort to do my part, I will need car today for shopping, liquor pick‐up, etc.

Dec. 11, 7:45 a.m.: Have looked out window. Driveway and streets are covered with six inches of snow. Public transit required after all. Except I have missed bus.

Dec. 11, 9:15 a.m.: Arrive late to work, in panic because in talking to seatmate on bus have discovered that local farms not producing heirloom tomatoes in December. Or basil, key ingredient in pesto‐brushed artisan bread toasts. Asked her what the farms would be producing. Apparently local produce on offer consists largely of apples and pears.

Dec. 11, 10:30 a.m.: Use coffee break to scuff my way through snow to corner grocery. Purchase large quantities of B.C. pears and Gala apples. Remember original plan to make Nanaimo bars; no time now, so buy twenty‐five fair‐trade chocolate bars instead.

Find at cash desk that I have not remembered to bring my fold‐up reusable nylon shopping bags; removed them earlier from handy spot in pants pockets after discovering they made my hips look shockingly large. Am walking back into work laden with seven plastic bags when Jane and Simon emerge. Simon holds door open for me. He is looking down with funny expression ‐ at my disposable bags? At my bottom? Do hips look gigantic even without bags in pockets?

Dec. 11, noon: Company courier has agreed to pick up liquor in exchange for three of the chocolate bars. Is under strict instructions to purchase only organic beverages.

Dec. 11, 1 p.m.: Must empty e‐waste bins so I can use them as recycling containers at

party tonight (North Shore Recycling Program wants us to keep refundable cans and bottles out of the blue box). Make seventeen trips to loading bay in basement in order to store printers, etc. Julia in next cubicle makes four trips as well, in exchange for two of the chocolate bars.

Smell rather sweaty as a result of exertion, but will have lots of time to freshen up before party.

Dec. 11, 1:46 p.m.: Courier arrives back with four cartons of drinks. Good to have that sorted. Give him bonus chocolate bar.

Dec. 11, 3:30 p.m.: Tree! Have forgotten all about a tree! Leave desk early and bus to nearest nursery so I can get live Christmas tree. Burly employee carries six‐foot tree to cash desk for me, grasping the trunk just above burlap‐bound root ball. Have already made purchase when I discover I can't really lift it myself. Pay burly employee four chocolate bars to carry it to bus stop.

Dec. 11, 4:26 p.m.: Wrestle tree out of bus (driver not inclined to help, but give him chocolate bar in recognition of pine needles carpeting floor). Manage to drag it as far as office building door before burlap sack splits. Leave tree in middle of pavement, propped up by ancient shopping cart found in alley next to building. Will decorate later. Must get food ready. And get home before party to exchange sodden work clothes for fetching, perky party apparel.

Dec. 11, 4:45 p.m.: Am madly coring and cutting up apples and pears (local). and throwing chunks onto random platters found in lunchroom (eschewed disposable plates and paper napkins, of course, but forgot to rent china/linen alternative).

Sprinkle fruit with cinnamon found in packets at staff coffee station (not local, don't bloody care). Will microwave for festive apple‐y smell before serving.

5:10 p.m.: Have uncrated liquor, only to discover courier has purchased ONLY bottles of organic vodka. Confront him in storage cupboard, where he is propped against wall in stupor, having just finished four chocolate bars. Claims he was lured away from organic wine/beer display by scantily clad marketing elf displaying new vodka product. "But she gave me these," he says blearily, fingering ridiculous felt reindeer antlers that are askew on his head. I am suddenly in full sympathy with mother of Jack, impressionable lad who exchanged donkey for dried beans (but at least they were local).

5:18 p.m.: Ransack lunchroom looking for things to mix with vodka so as to create festive cocktails. Have set up bar with little bowls of orange juice crystals, cucumber slices from old lunch left in fridge, blueberries from same, and someone's sea green algae protein beverage (can be marketed as vodka‐laced vitality cocktail for the health conscious).

5:19 ‐ 5:52 p.m.: Set out recycling bins, gathered snow in wastebasket to serve as ice bucket for vodka bottles, and broke up remaining fair‐trade chocolate bars into very

small chunks (discovered there were only eleven left for party as I neglected to record the three I ate on the way home from grocery). No time to change as party starts in eight minutes. Find tube of red glitter glue in Julia's desk and swirl it through hair for festive effect.

6:30 p.m.: Am watching Jane and Simon chat in corner over coffee mugs full of organic wine. Yes, wine. Jane "just happened" to have some in her car, along with artisanal ale from local brew pubs (tarted‐up beer, if you ask me). Feign gratitude for her forethoughtfulness, then sulk in lonely silence behind my cocktail bar. Have had one person ask for my Orange Blueberry Martini Surprise, but he cancelled his order after discovering surprise ingredient was Tang. Do people have no sense of adventure?

6:35 p.m.: Decide to get ball rolling by pouring self one of my Vitality Cocktails.

6:40 p.m.: Finish last of cocktail whilst laughing merrily to surrounding naysayers and exclaiming over the bold, interesting flavour provided by sea green algae ingredient.

6:41 p.m.: Seek privacy in e‐igloo, where I lie on floor and try not to throw up.

6:53 p.m.: Stagger out of igloo (after minutes spent unsticking hair from carpet; forgot about festive red glitter glue). People are starting to exchange their Secret Santa creations, a wretched collection of half‐baked limericks and "I'll buy you a coffee" coupons hastily scrawled at desk two minutes before party. Jane, however, has composed funny lyrics to song for antler‐headed courier, and sings them into company mic while undulating in clingy dark green organic bamboo dress. People start to clap along. I forgot she is the director of a Vancouver women's choir.

6:54 p.m.: I also forgot that I am supposed to be Jane's Secret Santa! Am stymied until I remember plate of fruit that is still sitting in lunchroom microwave. Wash out jar of old mustard from fridge, and scrape into it the pears, apple and cinnamon.

Sprinkle on some sugar from coffee station, and hand‐letter a new label saying "Local preserves, from my kitchen to yours." Hope she doesn't notice persistent whiff of mustard from lid.

7:10 ‐ 8:45 p.m.: Jane wouldn't notice mustard if it hit her over head. Is in the middle of dance party in full swing; everyone is delighted with her wine and the world music CDs she keeps at her desk. She is leading a conga line around the water cooler; the antlers are now perched on her head (why does everything look fetching when paired with auburn curls?) Simon is second in conga line and singing along to CD. Employees in other corner are on phone ordering pizza from multinational franchise in the next street.

Have accepted that I have made a complete hash of things. Want to go home.

8:50 p.m.: Decide to escape under guise of emptying recycling bins. Put all the liquor bottles into one container, accidentally spilling leftover beer down my front, and stagger down the stairs to dump bottles in the underground for eventual transport to depot. Suddenly remember Christmas tree is still abandoned outside on walk.

8:55 p.m.: Snow still falling and the white‐frosted tree leans, Pisa‐like, against the shopping cart. I brace my elbows against the cart's handle and take great gulps of fresh air, trying to escape my aura of beer, sweat, glue and mustard. Am wondering if I can find new job on craigslist by tomorrow a.m. to avoid facing shame of botched hostessing duties when I hear someone coming out of door behind me.

9 p.m.: Simon. Obviously the very last person I want to see right now, but he says he has something for me. Am expecting a letter transferring me to Tasmania branch, but he opens his hand and I look closer. It is a photograph, cut with wavy scissors into the round shape of a Christmas tree ornament and topped with a loop of red ribbon. The photo is of me building e‐waste igloo, looking cross and disheveled, clearly unaware of camera. I look up at Simon, prepared to be indignant.

"Look on the back," he suggests, so I turn it over.

"To a special woman who always makes me laugh," it says in green felt pen. I look up, and Simon smiles down at me and reads my mind.

"Yes," he says. "In a good way." He leans closer. "Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa."

I suddenly decide that perhaps it's not necessary to find a new job tonight after all. I knock some snow off the tree and slide the ornament onto a branch. "Thank you," I say, and find Simon studying the lopsided tree in bemusement.

"Do you have a plan for getting this home?" he asks, but then he looks at me sporting my hair glued together in chunks, beer spilled on my shirt, and chocolate stains around my mouth (neglected to record the six squares of chocolate bolted in the stairwell in attempt to stave off despair) and answers his own question.

He hoists the tree into the shopping cart and looks at me. "Shall we?" he asks, starting to push the rusty old cart through the snow. I grab the front of the cart, grin foolishly, and together we slip and slide into the night.

***

To: All Employees From: Jane Ridgeway, 3R Committee Subject: Green Christmas tips Date: December 1

As last year's Holistic Holiday coordinator is currently on her honeymoon, I am pleased to offer you the following tips for an environmentally friendly multi‐faith holiday season. Please see me or visit the North Shore Recycling Program (NSRP) website at northshorerecycling.ca should you have any questions.

1. Remember, wrapping paper is often adorned with non‐recyclable ribbons and foil accents, and does not belong in the municipal recycling program.

2. Refundable beverage containers should be returned to a proper depot (see www.encorp.ca) as the North Shore Recycling Program does not receive deposit revenue for those containers left in blue boxes (and may have to pay for their processing).

3. The NSRP underlines the importance of compressing recyclables at this busy time of year (i.e. flattening boxes, milk jugs, tins, etc) so as to minimize number of times pick‐up trucks must return to depot for offloading.

4. People with large volumes of recyclables are encouraged to use the drop‐off depot at the bottom of Riverside Drive. Please see NSRP website for details.

5. While our company will NOT be collecting used or defunct electronics this year, we do encourage individual employees to ensure their home electronics are properly reused or recycled through Encorp or www.freegeekvancouver.org.

6. Charity shops, classified ads and online sites such as craigslist are tremendous resources for buying and selling.

7. Christmas trees may be taken to one of the many non‐profit chipping events on the North Shore, or disposed of via the curbside yardwaste pick‐up. Please note that trees must be cut into three‐foot lengths and bundled with biodegradable (e.g. cotton, hemp) string or twine into bundles weighing no more than 20kg.