We've embarked on a multi-week experiment, tentatively titled Getting the City to Pick Up Our Recycling, Since They're So Damned High-and-Mighty About Green Living.
A few weeks ago, we came home on recycling day to find our bins still heaped with soggy pizza boxes (ours) and free-range organic egg cartons (the troll in the basement's). There was one of those Things You're Doing Wrong notes, but it didn't make any sense, so I went online last week to see what was and wasn't allowed in the surprisingly strict Victoria recycling guidelines. Juice boxes and creamo cartons are, apparently, verboten. We took out all the contraband and even took a stab at sorting, but nothing doing.
The troll did a bit of recon last week (read: peeped in our neighbor's recycling to see how they do, and then spied on the recycling guys from the basement window) and figures that since the one guy gave the impression of being unable to lift our bin full of empty milk jugs and ketchup containers, that we should split up our goods into three bins instead of two. Because city workers are fragile types. The guys only come by every two weeks, so we'll have to sit on this idea for a while and try not to eat anything that comes in boxes or cans in the meantime.
If this fails, we have another idea or two up our sleeves, but it's tempting to just start hucking things in the garbage. I mean, I'm all for recycling with minimal effort, but if I'm blogging about this it means that I've had to put entirely too much thought into it.