A Shit-Storm of Plastic
As Published in Tuck Magazine
You wake up in the morning, reach over and shut off the plastic alarm clock which sits on the bedside table, then rise and make your way to the bathroom, where (depending on your need) you lift or lower the plastic toilet seat and once you’re done with your business, shed your night clothes, pull back the plastic shower curtain, step into the tub and plant your feet firmly on a plastic mat so you don’t slip and fall. After finishing your shower, you dry off, grab a disposable plastic razor and shave, put on deodorant, hair gel and perhaps a dash of cologne, all from various throwaway plastic tubes and bottles. Next, it’s back to the bedroom where you slip into clean underwear and t-shirt, socks, a pair of slacks and a fresh white shirt, the latter two suspended from coat hangers and covered by clear plastic wrappers. And last, but not least, you put on your shoes with the aid of a plastic shoe horn. Once dressed, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen, shake out your daily regimen of vitamins and supplements from a half-dozen outrageously oversized plastic bottles (none of which were more than half-full when you bought them at the health food store), grab a plastic container of orange juice from the fridge, pour yourself a healthy portion of juice into a large plastic super-hero cup and wash down the pills. You load the largely plastic coffee maker and, while waiting for it to perk, pull a couple of slices of bread from a plastic wrapper and pop them in the plastic-coated toaster. Meanwhile, you hear the morning paper land on the porch and you know for a certainty it’s securely wrapped in a plastic bag to protect it from the weather. By the time you’ve retrieved the paper, your toast is ready, so you put it on a plate, slather on some Peter Pan peanut butter from a super-size, 40 oz. plastic jar and top it off with a few of squiggles of honey from the cute little plastic Honey Bear container. While eating, you turn on the television with a handy plastic remote and watch, with growing disgust, a series of plastic news commentators dance across the tv’s plastic screen, as you move from channel to channel, searching in vain for just a smidgen of good news. After breakfast, you step into the downstairs bathroom, brush your teeth with a plastic toothbrush, give your hair a final once-over with a plastic comb and, finally, you’re ready to roll. Well, almost ready, anyway. Because, about this time, your wife reminds you that you must still clean the cat’s plastic litter box. So, gathering up the clumpy little clods of excrement with a plastic scoop you place them in a plastic sack, which you will dump in the plastic trash can (already overflowing with assorted plastic waste) at the end of the drive as you leave for work. Holy crap, you haven’t even made it out the back door and already you’re drowning in plastic! A virtual shit-storm of the stuff, which will molder in some desolate landfill long past not only your own lifetime, but that of your children and your children’s children, as well, or float about in the ocean, where it may well be swallowed by some hapless sea creature, who fatally mistakes it for a bit of sustenance.
Sobering, huh? And the remainder of an equally plastic-laden day still lies out there waiting on you!