I’ve got my own version of “Homeland Security.” Protect the watershed. I do this through the great hobby of canning. No, not those wonderful preserves plied by the Amish. Instead, endowed with the bloodhound instincts of a born and bred Washingtonian, I sniff out those remaining urban oases vulnerable to trashy habits. The ease with which aluminum cans are recouped at these sites would astonish all but the homeless, who, through our trashiness, gratefully reap a perpetual free lunch program. Scrap metal companies pay 40 to 50 cents for each pound of aluminum cans.
Recycling cans equates into real energy savings, too. Did you know that the energy required to produce a new aluminum can is equivalent to that of a gallon of gas? Or three hours of watching Law & Order? Americans, the world’s biggest energy consumers per capita, groan as gas prices soar. Yet we seek to ingest energy into our physical body at every opportunity, at every convenience store and Starbucks.
If I could have a nickel for every Red Bull…well, I kinda do. I find more Red Bull cans improperly disposed of than any other drink. Why is this so? Perhaps the tiny “please recycle” notice on the can should be more noticeable. Or maybe, the ingredients of the drink induce careless behavior. As with other energy drinks designed to make life a little easier, Red Bull “improves performance, especially during times of increased stress or strain.” Apparently Red Bull also “increases concentration and improves reaction speed.”
Not so with the many alcohol containers I find flung from the driver’s side on highway ramps. Friends of MADD, you may never want to get behind the wheel again. Large parking lots are also often cluttered with cans, especially behind bowling alleys. You can score big if you can tolerate a few cans filled with cigarette butts or drug paraphernalia.
A New York friend once lambasted me for raiding cans from the enclaves of the homeless, which range from a pile of trash to belongings neatly organized in plastic containers. Soft, pine needle-bedded sanctuaries make the best outdoor homes; the canopy affords both privacy and headroom. Just yards from where we live, the homeless struggle to survive. Once, I came upon a camp of recent immigrants behind a grocery store at a major juncture. I won’t tell. That being said, railroad tracks still make a fine hobo hideout.
On a recent canning excursion, I ventured near the gigantic National Security Agency (NSA) installation and Fort Meade, where signs warn of roaming guard dogs, who to my great relief, never appeared as I flirted with the border. Instead, I amused myself with the thought that Big Bro was watching the show. At the same time, a feeling of dismay came over me, because presumably, these same local employees, responsible for the Homeland Security program, had thrown trash directly into a conspicuous marsh surrounding the Little Patuxent River. Let’s not shoot ourselves in the foot by destroying the land we are protecting!
So, how does one get started, you ask? You’ll simply need large trash bags with handles. Waterproof hiking shoes are better than your best waffle stomper sneakers for the steep inclines, and light work gloves sell for less than $2. The closest commercial scrap metal recycling center to the campus is called “Metro Re-Uz-It” and is located at 3401 Kenilworth Ave in Hyattsville.
Alyssa Moquin is a graduate student in the musicology department, and can be reached at amoquin@umd.edu.
