Night Deposit

 

After I moved to Columbia, Missouri to attend the University of Missouri, I discovered that the city had passed an ordinance to try to encourage recycling and reduce the trash littering the streets.

I suppose the theory was valid…at least to some extent.

I do know it worked out well for homeless alcoholics.

——————————————

To solve the littering problem intrinsic to city life, the powers-that-be in Columbia had decided to charge a 10¢ deposit for every soft drink can or bottle sold in the city.  The theory being that people willing to pay $1.00 or more for a bottle of soda would then be eager to reclaim that additional dime they had invested in the purchase.

Containers were printed to indicate that they were sold in Columbia and not in some community that had no such deposit.

Sure, there were many people who would return the cans or bottles and collect their deposit, but it is questionable whether they were doing it for the deposit or because they were simply environmentally conscious people who believed in recycling anyway.

Whereas there were those who chose to recycle, there were many others who continued to toss the empties, either into the trash or out on the street.  This turned out to be a boon for the city’s homeless alcoholic population, who would gather discarded cans until they had enough to exchange for cash to buy a different bottle…one full of cheap alcohol.

——————————————

During the recent Thanksgiving holiday, my cousin, John, was home for our annual family reunion.  John had also lived in Columbia while attending UMC and still resides in the area.  Somehow the topic of Columbia’s bottle deposit came up.  I told my cousin that I had noticed many of the bottles sold in our area have been printed exactly as the ones in Columbia are, and thus are eligible to be exchanged for that 10¢.

I joked that a budding entrepreneur could gather up plastic bottles in Malden, drive to Columbia (five hours one way) and make a profit by turning them in.  “A fella could get rich picking up free bottles from the trash and turning them in for money,” I suggested.

John pursed his lips and observed, “To pay for gas for the round trip at a dime apiece, you’d only have haul about a thousand bottles.  Then you have to figure in your time to collect all those bottles, plus the time to drive up there and back…”

Then my wise-cracking kin smiled broadly and said, “You’re gonna have to get a bigger truck.”

——————————————

Back when John and I were growing up in Malden, the building that now houses the Bootheel Education Center was the Pepsi Cola Bottling Company.  Folks in the area called it simply, the Pepsi Plant.

Pepsi bottles were made of thick glass and were thus very expensive to make.  Obviously, it was cheaper to reuse bottles than to buy new ones.  A deposit charged for each bottle of Pepsi was seen as the solution.  In those days of more meager subsistence, the comparatively greater 2¢ deposit served the purpose of getting the bottles back quite well.

In those days of 50¢ per week allowance for kids like us, that deposit made collecting bottles a viable money-making opportunity for some.  It wasn’t uncommon to see kids pulling a little red wagon loaded with empties toward the nearest grocery store, to be exchanged ultimately for candy and another bottle of soda.

Well, the Pepsi man was kept busy not only delivering the delicious nectar to stores but picking up the returned empties and reimbursing the store owner for taking them back in.  The driver would then take those bottles back to the Pepsi plant where they would be washed, refilled, and capped for reselling.

One problem came in when some less-than-honest kids learned of a hitch in the process.

You see, the drivers sometimes were not able to time their routes closely enough to make it back to the loading dock and get their returns off-loaded before the dock workers finished their shift.  That shouldn’t be a problem.  I mean, glass bottles don’t decay, so they should be in exactly the same condition the next morning when the dock workers returned to work.  Just park the truck in the back lot and go home for the night.

Except for one thing.  The fence around the back lot had fallen into such disrepair that there were holes big enough for dishonest entrepreneurs to get through.  Maybe the reason the fence had been allowed to get in such a state was that, in our area, one of the first plants to grow in untended areas is blackberry briars.

Now, these are not the friendly, thorn-less canes that we see in well-manicured gardens.  You know, the ones where you can walk in and fill a basket with big, juicy berries with no risk of injury.  No, the canes I’m talking about grow multiple thorns per inch; the kind of thorns that seem eager to snag you if you get within a few feet of them.  They reach out and grab you, pulling you in and filling your skin with multiple painful punctures.

The kids who snuck in at night e-e-e-eased in slowly and carefully so as not to be grabbed by the thorns, then grabbed a few bottles and snuck back out.  They experienced enough success that their thoughts turned from cents to dollars and empties started disappearing by the case.

With losses mounting, the police were notified and one of Malden’s finest was soon dispatched to spend a hot summer night watching the trucks.  He pulled into a corner of the lot and shut off his cruiser.  The sun began to set and things got quiet.

After a while the patrolman heard the distinct sound of one of the trucks’ rolling doors being pushed upwards.  He waited long enough for the culprits to get thoroughly involved in their work, then switched on his lights and siren.

The criminal must have thought the he could outrun the long arm of the law, so he dropped the bottles and took off running for the fence.

To emphasize his point, the cop yelled, “Stop, or I’ll SHOOT!”

Now, he later told us that he had no intent at all to actually shoot someone for stealing soda bottles, but thought getting the bejesus scared out of him would serve to reduce the escaping thief’s desire to purloin Pepsi bottles in the future.  But the criminal took the threat of being shot as a prime inducement to hit high gear.

——————————————

Dressed in standard summer garb of shorts and tank top and thus unemcumbered by a full uniform and gun belt as the officer was, the young bandit was gaining distance on the cop…until he dove through the hole in the fence, and into the blackberry briars.

Screams of pain were soon interspersed with pleas of, “Don’t shoot!  Don’t shoot!  I give up!”

——————————————

Now the cop was a friend of ours who hung out at Bill’s Mobile, where John worked.  We laughed and laughed when he shared the story, but we never thought to ask him what the end result of the adventure was, or what happed to the young thief, but I’m pretty sure of one thing.

I’m willing to bet his future plans did not include ever again to run half-naked through blackberry briers…even with the easy profit of a 2¢ Pepsi bottle deposit sitting just on the other side.

 

PLEASE SUBSCRIBE AT THE UPPER RIGHT.  IT’S FREE!

You will ONLY receive notifications when I post new entries to my blog.

Go to the top of the right hand column where it says, “SUBSCRIBE TO BLOG VIA EMAIL”.  Fill in your email and hit the “Subscribe” button.  You will receive a verification email.  Please confirm that you want to subscribe by clicking, “Confirm Follow” and you will be set!  Thanks!

It doesn’t seem to work from a cell phone, only a computer.  I don’t know why.  Sorry.  If there’s a problem, send me your email address and I’ll sign you up.