Please tell me you recycle. Please.

Did you know I was an equestrienne?  For reals.  I’ve never actually been on a horse, but indeed, am an equestrienne.  I own a high horse.  It’s very high.  I like to get on it.  And when I’m on that high horse I pontificate.  Mary Tyler Mom has provided a whole new venue – – my high horse has a new stable, if you will. 

Today, high on my high horse, Imma talk about recycling in Chicago.  It is a sorry state of affairs, folks, recycling in Chicago.  There is much to pontificate about.  I could kvetch about living in the “greenest city in America” and still needing to deposit my recyclables at a local blue bin drop center.  I can complain endlessly about living in a condo that does not recycle.  I could go on and on and on, but that is boring and you don’t want to read that. 

Instead, I’ll just post a picture of my local drop center.  Sigh.  What a freaking shame.  Please, Chicago, Urbus en Horto, City in a Garden, Mary Tyler Mom needs you to do better.  This is unacceptable.  If I gave Mary Tyler Son some cartons to put in our recycling bin and saw this debacle in our pantry my toddler would be getting a time out.  And he would learn and he would do better.   Chicago?  Not so much.

If I were a glass half full kind of gal, I suppose I could rejoice at the abundance of plastic and cardboard spillng out of these blue bins.  But at the end of a long day, at the end of a long weekend, I’m not really feeling glass half full.  I’m tired, Chicago, I’m busy and over extended.  And know that when I say that if I go through the trouble of memorizing which numbers are recycled and which are not, when I diligently wash each and every soda can, yogurt container, and freaking peanut butter jar, is it too much to ask to have a place to put it?

Help me help us, Chicago.  Be true to your Latin nom.  Empty the freaking blue bins.  Please. 

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