I was never a sailor. I just talk like one.
Especially when I stumble upon some of the worst, most environmentally egregious materials people carelessly fling aside or, perhaps worse, don’t manage the recycling or disposal of same.
This falls in the latter category. There’s a multi-story office building under construction in the tony portion of Southpark just south of the intersection of Fairview and Sharon Road in Charlotte. The owners are at the stage where the finishing touches are being applied. And to protect those ‘finishing touches’ in transit to the work site, polystyrene is used as a cushion/protectant.
That’s the rub. It’s a low quality polystyrene (aka styrofoam) that literally crumbles in your hand. The contractor has installed a chain link fence around the site, but that does little or nothing to confine the polystyrene I’ve witnessed workers toss aside from the upper floors.
Once the chunks and slabs and sheets hit the ground, it’s free to blow in the wind – and it does. And this is where the F-bombs come in, and they come in frequently.
Day after day after day I’ve collected this jetsam that has escaped the work site. ‘WTF’ and the longer iterations of the F-bomb are a common refrain, although the traffic on Sharon tends to drown me out. Bag after bag after bag of this stuff has been scooped up but I’m helpless to corral all of it, notably the small chunks/individual pellets that will never be retrieved.
Just north of the adjacent SunTrust building, the pellets collect like so much snow in mini-drifts in the relatively balmy Southern temperatures. Where will that junk go? I’ve stooped many times to retrieve larger chunks from either of two storm grates just a few yards from the porous chain link fence. More F-bombs.
In a few days I’ll post about a whale that died recently, it’s innards blocked by all manner of man-made plastic and other flotable junk/discards that, as these small polystyrene pellets might eventually do, reaches the ocean and for all the world looks like food to the creatures below. Talk about more F-bombs. At least I was inside when I said them aloud.
I hate that I have to pick polystyrene up. Worth hating even more is the thought that much of it is beyond my reach, as it is at however many other construction sites that repeat ad nauseam what I’ve been seeing for weeks now.
Worthy of F-bombs? Damn straight it is.