Ghost Camping Girl Friday - What’s Inside Your Trashcan?
My latest bolt of eco clarity struck as I sat at the desk I’d been assigned for my temp job du jour, waiting for the phone to ring and hoping it wouldn’t.
I often have lots of thumb twiddling time on temp jobs, and as any freelance writer who temps to make ends meet will tell you, that doesn’t always translate to “time to write.” On this day as I sat twiddling and procrastinating, several events occurred which inspired in me, the concept of the “green temp,” or as I later came to call it the “ghost camper.” That day, my peaceful “staring off into space” routine was rudely interrupted by the realization that the rim of my Styrofoam cup was covered in chew marks. Curious to see if I was developing some strange anxiety-induced gnawing habit, I peered over the side of my desk where my seven gallon, grey plastic, office garbage can sat.
I was shocked!
Not only were there four Styrofoam cups all bearing my lipstick color in there, it was also half full - three and a half gallons full, to be specific. How had that happened? It had been empty upon my arrival in the morning - I distinctly remembered the plink of the ink barren pen I’d thrown in just after I’d arrived. I looked around to see if there was some mischievous fellow office worker who might be playing tricks on me - but the only other person who’d been in the head honcho’s office that day was the honcho himself. And, trust me, the man had his own trashcan!
As I stared into the trashcan, the phone rang. It was the man himself, telling me he wouldn’t be back in for the rest of the day, and I that should enjoy the Internet. It’s moments like these that make temping bearable! But on this day, rather than surfing the net, I found myself rummaging through my own trashcan. I found: the four Styrofoam cups, some gum wrappers and receipts I’d cleaned out of my purse, a Styrofoam container from the commissary which had contained my bagel, napkins, a plastic knife (which I’d used), and a plastic fork and spoon (which I had not used). The empty ink cartridge from the printer, which, true to form, had stopped working right when the boss asked me to print out a letter he’d dictated, shavings from my pencil sharpener, and 23 (I counted) sheets of paper from my hair-tearing printer experience. Waste!
That’s when the idea struck me. I did not come and go without a trace at these jobs. I left a heavy, Caterpillar-boot-like, carbon footprint in my wake. That’s when I first envisioned the image of the “ghost camper,” packing in to Paramount for the day, and leaving at night with barely a trace and the new game was born.
Of course, I still produce some paper waste at my temp jobs, but I am proud to say, some days the studio maid hasn’t even bothered to empty my trashcan. These days the ghost camper packs in her own coffee mug, her own water container filled at home, her own cloth napkin, her own reusable lunch containers and utensils. When the printer ink is out, I see it as hitting the jackpot, because usually when I ask if I can recycle it, I’m met with a shrug and a nod. And I send that baby straight to www.ecyclegroup.com, or one of the other recycling groups, and then use the money toward office supplies for my own writing career.
I do a fair amount of writing at coffee shops, and I do the ghost camping routine on those days as well. The key is to pack out of the cafe what you packed in, and to leave little to no evidence that you were ever there. First, I no longer rip open the little packets of sugar or half and half. If the café has a pitcher of cream and a sugar dispenser, I use those. Second, I bring my laptop computer to work on. (I used to go through loads of legal pads). If I must print script pages, I do that on the back of old script pages. Some days it may only be a few sheets of paper, a paper sugar packet and a few plastic utensils that I “don’t” use - but I figure if there are other ghost campers out there doing their part, it’s all adding up.
It’s not a matter of seeing the waste basket as “half full” or “half empty,” it’s a matter of seeing the waste basket at all - and caring to take a look inside.
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Amy Waddell - Ecoist
Amy Waddell is a writer, director and film editor in Los Angeles. Her work has been featured in over 20 film festivals all over the country. Her short film, The Mask Maker, won “best short†in the Chicago international Film Festival and her award winning documentary, The Reluctant Muse, aired nationally on PBS. She is a graduate of the USC Film School.
Tags: coffee mug, office garbage, reusable lunch containers, water bottle