That’s the way it is - but should it be?
poorly disposed? indisposed? captioning dilemma
I know I’m not the only one. I’ve seen others chase napkins across a restaurant patio. Or frantically search their pockets for something - anything - to McGyver as a bag when Fido has exceeded the supply by an unexpected extra morning poop.
So why is it that springtime uncovers bags and bags of Tim Hortons cups, Sour Cream Onion Ruffles bags, German Shepherd-worthy poops, and, curiously, a department store mannequin? Who are these people who have so little regard for their community that they can’t walk the necessary 10 paces to the next bin?
The City of Toronto’s website acknowledges litter has become a bigger problem, especially in parks and other high-traffic areas. They purport to have a $500 fine, but I’m guessing it’s never been used. Honestly, if it was, we could solve our budget crisis. Indeed the reverse is true. Their website goes on to talk about the cost of cleaning up after people, along with the harm litter causes to the environment and to the animals we share this space with. This was made very real for my late husband, Jack, and me early in our time in Weston when we awoke to find a skunk staggering around the back yard with its head stuck in a ice cappuccino cup. Read the whole story here.
Every year, people who care about the appearance of Weston and in particular, the Humber River, organize community clean-up days. Every year, I vow I will attend. I know it’s a good way to connect with others who appreciate what we have on our doorstep and do something useful at the same time. But every time, I find myself with a good excuse - an online writing workshop, some work that bled into the weekend, a sniffle that keeps me indoors.
Why, I’ve asked myself, do I not want to help put things to rights for the good of everyone?
Well, it’s because it pisses me off that people care so little that they don’t dispose of their own garbage. It’s not 1950; I’m not June Cleaver; it’s not my job to clean the house.
It’s said that the messier things are, the more inclined people are to contribute to the mess - if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em thinking. I just don’t get it. The more chaotic things are for me, the more I am inclined to rail against it and make an even bigger point - perhaps with harrumphing - of properly disposing of my waste. Even my chain-smoking late husband, Jack, would look for a sewer grate to drop his cigarette butt. Not ideal, from an environmental protection point of view, but I appreciated his attention to the aesthetics.
Who are these litter bugs? Were they not properly brought up? I was contemplating the questions and the condition of the Humber River path on a morning walk. The thing that really put me over the edge was that department store mannequin leaning against a tree by the water. The effort to get her down there while maintaining her pristine whiteness would surely have been more than disposing of her properly. I hauled myself up the eight flights of stairs at Cruikshank Park with a headful of outrage about humanity.
As I walked north up Weston Road, I met a man blasting an ‘80s classic from his boombox: “That’s just the way it is. Some things will never change." Thanks, Bruce Hornsby, for your dose of reality. I guess I should swallow my judgment and join in for the next cleanup. The world I want to live in doesn’t exist - yet.
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