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After eating my first lunch yesterday at the Duke of York, I asked the manager what the biggest inconvenience of the strike was in his professional life. He said it was picking up the litter on the street and sidewalk outside of the establishment, a task usually performed by those golf cart-type vehicles with the large vacuums. He said that he was amazed – shocked, in fact – by how quickly Torontonians had gone to pieces and started to throw their trash on the ground. I nodded, pretended to be sympathetic, and left to go back to not caring about other people’s problems.

After finishing my second lunch with some people from my office an hour and a half later, the landlord asked me to help him pick up the garbage around the building – specifically to help him clean up around the trash bin at the corner. It started to burst at the seams last Thursday, and now was starting to become a serious eye/nose sore. Since the landlord has been quite nice to me over the years (he provides a rent-free office, he gave me life), I grudgingly consented.

It. Was. Disgusting. I mean, really disgusting. I’d noticed a few days earlier that the Trash Lady – a woman who stops by our bin every day to poke around and pick stuff out – had taken a peak, frowned, and walked away without even sorting through. Now I found out why. For the past few days people had persisted in trying to fit garbage into every nook and cranny of the bin. When each gap in this garbage mound had been filled, jerks decided to simply drop bags and spare refuse next to the bin. My landlord and I took all of the overflow out of the bin – by hand – and put it into garbage bags (our office has private pickup). I won’t go into detail about the things that I had to deal with, but I’ll just say that our office is located in a residential neighbourhood that caters to pet owners.

I washed my hands until I saw bone.

This litter problem is neither a fault of the city’s nor of the unions': it is ours. Look within. I watched a pedestrian two days ago try against all logic to stuff a paper bag into one of the city’s supposedly closed-off three-hole bins – getting filthy in the process as he dealt with that receptacle’s overflow – and then, after failing, he just threw it on the ground. What the is wrong with this person, and with all of us? We’re beset by a pretty exasperating strike, but the fact that the city and the union have left us holding the bag doesn’t mean that we should just drop it on the street.

I’m not about to claim that I’m a good citizen. Far from it. But I’d like to think that I have a bit of pride in my city and I hate the idea of convenience winning out over common sense at the precise moment common sense is most needed. The next person I see littering is going to hear from me.

Unless, of course, they’re bigger than me, because I’m a bit of a coward. Or if they’re a woman – I’m not all that good at approaching girls. Or if they’re under fifteen or over sixty-five years old – kids and seniors get a pass. So: if you’re a short, skinny male between the ages of 16 – 64 and you litter when I’m around, watch out.