waste not, burn in hell not

I once attended a lecture by her highness Madeleine Albright, who told a crowd of 3,000 women: "There is a special place in hell for women who don't support each other." I am inclined to believe her.

But this morning, while putting our assorted recyclables out on the curb, I found myself hoping there's also a special place in hell for people who can't get the concept of separating paper bags from plastic, thereby rendering their recyclables garbage. Or those who can't be bothered to break down cardboard boxes, preferring to jam them into a garbage can? Please, let's not even mention the bottle-and-can-throw-awayers.

Forgive me, but I like to imagine them passing their eternal damnation in a small, windowless room with a forced-air heater set to "high," and with piles of fetid trash in leaky, plastic bags nearly reaching the low ceiling. Like Huis Clos, but with no one to blame for the trash but yourself.

Too harsh?

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