Q: Hi ‘Landfill’! I’ve been crushing on a girl on my floor for weeks, and we shared a sweet smooch at Full Moon. How do I know if there’s chemistry between us, or if our lip lock was just lunar lust?
Yours,
Confused in Crothers
A: Oh hey there, hotshot. You want a girl to notice you? How about you start by making sure she- and the rest of mankind, while we’re at it- don’t end up DYING in a freaking environmental CATACLYSM? How about you take that there OBVIOUSLY PLASTIC SUSHI CONTAINER and put it in- oh, I don’t freaking know- the one that says…
wait for it… OH SWEET JESUS WAIT FOR IT… PLASTIC. THE ONE THAT SAYS PLASTIC. OKAY?
Q: Howdy “Landfill”! I’m a mechanical engineering major, and I have to take Creative Nonfiction to complete my WAYS requirements. I’m trying to take the high road and to give the class a fair shake, but I just can’t get myself interested in the subject matter.
How can I get my creative nonfiction juices flowin’?
Thanks,
Techie in Toyon
A: Oh, don’t worry, bub, I know all about creative expression. Some idiot took a sip of a Diet Coke this morning, realized he didn’t want it, and creatively decided that he’d rather have it be put in a LANDFILL- literally a place where it will ROT, USELESSLY, for ALL OF ETERNITY- than have it be put in the PLASTIC AND ALUMINUM RECYCLING BIN that’s situated, oh, I don’t know, like THREE FREAKING CENTIMETERS TO MY LEFT. Hey, maybe the GIANT LANDFILL LABELS ON MY SIDE AND TOP, you know, the ones that say ‘LANDFILL’, didn’t PROPERLY INDICATE WHERE THINGS PUT INSIDE ME WOULD END UP. But I don’t know much about INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION, do I?
Maybe it should be ME takin creative nonfiction.
Q: Hiya, “Landfill”. I’m a sophomore, and I’m worried that I’m drifting away from my friend group. We all drew into Branner together last year, and I find that we all don’t hang out much anymore. How can I rekindle the fire of friendship?
Yours,
Bereft in Branner
A: Sophomore year can be tough- you’ve settled in and know a ton more about where you “fit” on campus, but that fit can come to feel confining, and you can lose your perceived footholds at a moment’s notice.
Take the sophomore who put a printed, marked-up copy of a History essay with me yesterday afternoon. The tree that made that paper- and don’t worry, that fucker was printed DOUBLE SPACED, ONE SIDED- probably thought it had found its place. It probably though it would keep on swaying in the breeze, providing shade, and maybe blossoming in the spring. Then perhaps when it was cut down it thought, “Hey, at least there’s a chance I’ll get turned into really useful paper, and then I’ll be recycled so my value can multiply!
” WELL I GUESS THAT DUMB TREE WAS PROVEN WRONG TOO, HUH? I BET HE FELT PRETTY STUPID WATCHING SOME GREASY, SNIVELING SOPHOMORE SHOVE AN ENTIRE FREAKING DRAFT OF A 30- PAGE RESEARCH DOCUMENT (AND A PRETTY DERIVATIVE ONE, MIGHT I FREAKIN ADD) in the ONLY BUCKET that EXPLICITLY indicates that it’s contents WON’T be recycled. Like, Jesus, if he’d put it in the plastic recycling, I’d be confused, sure, but at LEAST I could assume best intent. MY. FREAKING. LABEL. SAYS. LANDFILL. Does a quarter of a million dollars not buy you the right to know what a landfill is? Do you need someone to hold a teach-in?
You know what? No. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, it’s okay. Because when you all drown after the sea levels rise, it won’t hurt me a bit. I’m not the one with lungs.
So idk, maybe host a dinner with your friends. And don’t bother about composting the leftovers.
