Adventures in Recycling

Our garage resembling a fraternity house after Rush Week rather than that of an upstanding resident of Still Water Spring Condominiums; I took the bottles back to Meijer the other day. I thought it would be a simple task. When I lived in Michigan before you would bring in your bottles, some teenager would count them and give you cash money. *

1:15 on Tuesday I enter the bottle return room. The no taste having mullets** returning their Schlitz Cans are waiting for the Aluminum and Plastic machines to open up. The machine—the ONLY machine—that accepts glass in available. Uncertain of how this works, I insert the empty Bells Amber Ale. I get a notification “Bottle Not Big Enough.” Huh? It’s bottle sized. I try again. This time the machine turns and scans the bottle and throws it down a shoot similar to the drive through thingy*** at the bank. With each bottle you can hear the glass break when it reunites with the others. To the right of me is a box for general recycling—to discard the bottles yielding the message “product not sold” or “unauthorized bottle” as well as the cardboard materials that housed the bottles. I turn to discard the Bells Box and am obstructed by a woman who is digging through  said box. Digging, like a bum rummaging though the trash. As she obliviously stands in my way I watch with annoyance—she is slowing me down--and awe. Who goes searching for empties at the bottle return? I am tempted to take my 7 rejected items home to spite her. Finally I can discard my rubbish. $9.10 (91 bottles) later I move to an available Aluminum and Plastic machine to add another $1.10 to my pocket.

I must be getting old because I miss the days of pushing a cart of bottles--in those days cans of Goebel****--to the rear of the store and interacting with some student.  The new system is an ass ache for customers and means one less minimum wage job for some kid's gas fund.  I suspect the only entity that benefits is Meijer....

My Mom detests going in there hence avoids it by any means.  I think she, as usual, has the right idea. 

Reporting live from the Skee. 

*Used immediately after for a hangover breakfast at Denny's.

**A term my father uses to describe Rednecks

***Technical Term.

****Pronounced JoeBell (the French Beer). $9.99 got ya a 36 of cans.

Meet Baby Huey

We have a new resident at Newport Village Apartments and all I can tell you is just when things couldn’t get any odder this freak show moved in. I have met him on three separate occasions the second of which he was in the Jacuzzi flashing his Moobs in full glory and evidently needs to do laundry so—instead of swim trunks—was donning his underwear. They may have been boxer briefs at one point in time. He exited the pool area carrying his clothes with his fat rolls hanging over his black elastic band. An hour later Jay—that is his name—returned wearing a Wrigley Field T-Shirt.

“Have you been inside the friendly confines?”

“Huh?”

“Your shirt?”

“Oh, uh, this was a gift.”

“It’s one of the best tourist attractions to party at.”

“Wait, it’s a baseball field right”

Warned about Baby Huey living in the complex, no one accurately described him. His source of income is to drive his Prius to various bars in Newport Beach and Irvine and offer drunken people a ride for a small fee. He prides himself on being cheaper than a Cab. The only problem, he doesn’t have a license and apparently some bouncers are “out to get him” despite the community service he provides. You may wanna re-read that sentence. Don’t worry he is going to set a trap for them and videotape it.

Oh, but it pays better than a day job.

I won’t begin to explore the sanity of a his “fares.”

He recently tried Heroin, as Pot no longer “does anything for him.” Again, you may need to re-read that sentence so that it can sink in. In my opinion, anyone who tries Heroin expecting to be that one person who doesn’t get hooked is a moron.

The first time I encountered him he kept talking about his Daddy (who bought him the Prius) taking care of this and getting him that. I looked to my neighbor for permission. Then stated, “It must be hard being a spoiled rich kid.” He retorted, “I am not a kid. I am 22 and I am not spoiled.” Really? Then start paying your own way in life and pick up the phone and call TicketMaster yourself.

Last weekend his tires were slashed; which is a first for Newport Village. Quick to rush to judgment, Jay pointed the finger at some other residents. I am willing to guess that people are lining up to get even with him.

That’s my report of oddballs for the week.
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