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The Fourth R
As every woke person knows, the three Rs of recycling: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, should include a fourth: Repair. Reduce, repair, reuse, recycle. Case in point. Recently the brakes on our forklift weakened. As it was long overdue for a check-up, I contacted a thirteen-star Victoria firm that promptly sent a specialist, a man renowned in his field. He examined the patient for about seven minutes and declared it terminal. It’s not just the brakes, he said, but the fact that it’s just too old. You should, he whispered, with a suitable show of professional gravitas, prepare for the worst. We stood there, heads bowed, and mourned. Then he brightened and said that his “people” had an excellent machine we could have for the low low price of ten thousand dollars, including shipping. I thanked him and said I would be in touch. When he was gone, I took the opportunity to have a last moment with the patient. What times we had known! What loads we had lifted! Surely this could not be it? Loyal, loving, unwilling to give up hope, I got a second opinion. This new specialist diagnosed low oil and brake fluid levels. He gave it a transfusion and tightened some screws. The patient was reborn. Admittedly, some things are not designed to be repaired, such as beer cans. Recently I went over a bumpy section of road on a certain small island and one of my newly purchased tall boys bounced up off the seat and hit the floor of the truck and got punctured. Envision a pinwheel shooting beer foam as you drive. I pulled over and threw myself onto the patient, pressing my thumb on the hole, a first responder compressing a carotid artery. One handed, I tried peeling off a length of duct tape to patch the hole. This proved challenging. I gnawed the edge of the tape with my teeth to no avail. There was only one recourse—drink the remainder of the beer. As I drove home, belching discretely, I thought how the truck’s beery bouquet was not altogether unpleasant. But what if a cop stopped me? This had in fact occurred only weeks before on the Pat Bay Highway. I was given a list of repairs to address. My shipping straps were old, my tires bald, there was inadequate signage, one of my reflectors was gone, and the truck just looked past its prime. “Maybe you should consider a new vehicle?” this guardian of the highway suggested. I thanked deeply him for his sage advice. Then got a second opinion. A little rust removal, some fresh paint, new straps, new tires. Voila! Now men gaze in envy while woman grow dewy eyed at the glory that is the recycling truck. But you ask, what has this to do with microwaves and toasters? How do I fix a 72 inch plasma screen TV? Duct tape? Three-quarter-inch putty? These items, you remind me, are designed to be discarded. Too true. And furthermore, you say, don’t be so ludicrously naive as to suggest that we fix the system. Ha! No, at this point you’ve no choice but to move on down the line to the final R: recycle. - Grant Buday |