My Corona Diary (Take XIV): After Me, The Returnables...

<"So Many Bags (So Little Time)":

Take I/The Reckoner>

<i>

Now it can be told, I guess: I collected cans in the middle of a pandemic. Shock, horror! Stop presses! (Gasp, blush, cough, ahem...) "What were you thinking?"

Well, hang on a minute. I didn't do that, exactly. But I might as well have. Here in Michigan, the opportunity to return your pop bottles and cans for its 10-cent deposit wound up one of the earliest casualties of COVID-19, when the viral bomb dropped. 

State health authorities fretted about the possibility of Coronavirus being transmitted via liquids in plastic and metal pop bottles and cans. So, virtually overnight, all the grocery stores shut down their returnable stations and spaces, by executive order.

I found out the hard way one spring April afternoon, after lugging a couple good-sized bags to our favored grocery store, Matthew's, for nothing. I had no idea, till I spied the notice taped on the automatic doors. "Oh, crap," I told myself. "Well, I guess I got some greatly-needed exercise."

But now we had a problem. When would we ever get a chance to return any pop cans (in our case, oodles and oodles of two liter bottles of Diet Peps/Cherry Diet Pepsi)? Who knew how long this whole pandemic nightmare would last? 

After some thought, however, I decided to save them. I hadn't heard anything about the state canceling the deposit, and like any self-respecting punter, I wanted my money, even if it was only 10 cents a can or plastic bottle. 

Naturally, the prospect of storing so many containers, just like the grocery store, left The Squawker less than thrilled: "What if they wind up attracting a bunch of bugs?"

"I'll take the chance," I shrugged. "But if we see so one much as one winged thing, out they go. I promise."

"Fair enough. We'll see how it goes, I guess."

<"So Many Bags (So Little Time)":

Take II/The Reckoner>

<ii.>

I made one other concession: I agreed to keep those bulging 39-gallon bags in my archive room, which just happens to be the smallest space in our apartment. A small price to pay, I figured, till we find out what the state does with them. 

After all, I'd collected cans, off and on, for 20 years. Nobody knew their value better than I. Or so it seemed. (Michigan and Oregon are the only states that pay 10 cents per can. See the link below for further info. It's dated, but for readers in non-deposit states, it gives a good rundown, and will save me all the keystrokes of rehashing it here.)

Bit by bit, bottle by bottle, week by week, our stash grew from a molehill to a mountain. The storage didn't grow any bigger, though. 

Soon, I ran out of floor space, so I started piling those bulging bags on top of one another. I made a point of not visiting that room, unless I needed to find a particular CD, press clipping or tape from my collection.)

Then in June, the floodgates opened as fast as they'd slammed shut. The state, apparently convinced its earlier fears were groundless, allowed stores to begin taking returnables again. 

As the photos for this entry show, we'd ended up with six bags, mostly filled with two-liter bottles, plus a smattering of metal cans, too. (Here in town, some of the gas stations sell cans for 50 cents apiece, an ideal incentive before you go off on a picnic, for instance. Or eat in the car. Or want something to take on a trip)

Matthew's responded by walling off the bottle return area, and posting one of the baggers to vigorously spray down the machines, once you finally get to use them. What's more, they're only allowing one person at a time in there.

I'm not quarreling with those measures, except the last one. There's six machines in there, I think, so why not at least let one or two more people in, if you kept them sufficiently apart? For me, the containers were never the problem. It's the people deciding whether practices like social distancing, or wearing masks, apply to them or not.

What's more, the bottle return shuts down at 7:00 p.m. No more popping by after hours and dropping off your returnables. At least...for now.

<"So Many Bags (So Little Time)"

Take III/The Reckoner>

<iii.>

On this particular mid-June Monday afternoon, I'm lined up with half a dozen people, all pushing carts packed to the brim, and then some. No surprises there, with state estimates of some $50 million in returnables awaiting that 10-cent deposit (see link below). That's a staggering number, by any measure.

The line barely inches forward, because when you're only allowing one person in there, and they're taking their sweet time, stuffing those cans and bottles down the throat of the machine...I guess you can see how that might take awhile.

Behind me, a black guy and his friend start getting antsy. They have two carts, probably 20-30 bucks of bottles and cans between them. Behind them are another three or four people waiting. What's more, it's about 6:30 p.m., and we've all been here half an hour.

One of the black guys asks, "You think they're gonna get to all of us?" 

I wave my hand in reassurance. "Oh yeah," I smile. "You're already here, right? Then I can't see them telling you to come back tomorrow." 

The bagger on duty comes out, looks around briefly, and reassures all of us: "Don't worry, you'll taken care of."

The black guys visibly relax, though someone on a bike has now joined the fray. The bagger quickly sticks some type of wooden barrier or other behind him, the visual equivalent of "Come back tomorrow," I guess.

Reminds me of what happened in my regular canning days, when stores would literally put up signs, or insist, "Sorry, we're all full now," when they saw you coming with all those bulging bags. It didn't happen consistently, but enough to fall under the heading of "ongoing annoyance."

Ten minutes later, I finally get my chance. It easily takes me that long, if not 15 minutes, to feed the riches in my bags -- all six of them -- into the machine. I end up with $28.80 for all my trouble, which I end up using to knock down my grocery bill, when I head back over that night.

That's one for us, I think, heading home. It's been a good day. --The Reckoner

Links To Go:
Detroit Free Press:
Michiganders Wait -- And Wait -- 
To Redeem $50 Million In Can Deposits:
https://www.freep.com/story/news/local/michigan/2020/05/18/michigan-bottle-returns-open-closed/5194368002/

TripAdvisor: US Bottle & Can Deposits:

https://www.tripadvisor.com/Travel-g191-c113378/United-States:Bottle.Container.Deposits.html#:~:text=As%20of%20October%202010%20there,New%20York%2C%20Oregon%2C%20Vermont.

<"So Many Bags (So Little Time)"

The Art Shot/The Reckoner>