Give A Hoot. Don't Pollute!

Give a hoot. Don’t pollute!

Remember this message growing up? A long time ago, the US decided littering was bad so they came up with an anti-littering campaign. I don’t remember what it was like before this campaign. Was the US messy and dirty? This cartoon owl sitting on the branch was a part of my daily TV life, “Give a hoot. Don’t pollute.”

Do you think the US was like Marseille is today? Strewn about papers, broken glass, gum, lumps of foamy spit every two steps plus men washing their ass in public fountains? (Jeeves and his wife can confirm this latter appealing snippet)

And my sister Diane and I once saw a man drop his pants, spread his butt cheeks while standing upright and unload a splashing mess onto the sidewalks in Toulouse. We both thought he was going to whip out his penis. No, he had diarrhea and it was so shocking we ran as fast as we could to my apartment and when we felt safe, we stopped, doubled over laughing and Diane said, “Only with you, Sunny. Only with you!”

“Oh, my God. That was fucking disgusting” I said. My heart was racing.

“That was awesome! That was hilarious!” Diane had a high. She loved stuff like that.

Somehow I doubt the US was ever in bad shape like this even during the “Gangs of New York” days it still was probably better than Marseille. My mother grew up in NYC and claims to have seen a man crossing the street with nothing more than a newspaper tucked under his arm. He was just strolling along as if everything was perfectly normal, naked and a paper tucked under his arm. This is so mild in comparison, a nice summer breeze. Well, if we are going to go in this direction, crazy people we have seen in our lives, I’ll never get to my wonderful litter theme, so let me try and get back to that.

First, let’s revisit the American campaign. I imagine the reason why they used the word “pollute” is because nothing really rhymes that well with “litter” but we humans are not a bunch of cars sputtering exhaust, so why refer to us like that? Is it just because the person in charge of the project was uncreative or maybe lazy?

I can come up with something good. The Hoot campaign was an owl. Well, why not something like “Save us critters, don’t litter” and you could have a really cute animated hedgehog with bits of paper stuck in his quills? Wouldn’t that have been brilliant? I mean, that would have sent a nice message, much better than an owl sitting pretentiously on his branch preaching to the pulpit.

Even though I saw the owl every day, I think I littered as a child. In fact, I remember my turning point when I realized how awful littering was. I was with some friends, most likely Sydney and Kayla, and we were with a new guy named Mario. He had long black shiny hair and said he was Aztec. Yes, you heard me right, he was Aztec. Are you thinking, “There are no Aztecs, what the heck is she talking about.” But Mario referred to himself as Aztec. Clearly, he was embarrassed to say, “I’m Mexican”. It was much better to refer to himself as part of a people who no longer existed. Mario belonged to a people who built some pyramids and then disappeared inexplicably.

Getting back to my turning point from littering to cleaning up after myself, we had been sitting in some tall grass in a park smoking weed. We were dancing in the sunshine and eating chips and candy bars. We decided it was time to leave and so we all stood up and started to head out.

“Hey! You guys are gonna leave this garbage here?” cried out Mario in disbelief.

We looked down and saw our wrappers. It looked ugly and instantly I was filled with a consciousness whereas before I had been operating blindly without a clue. I felt guilty. I was going to leave that mess behind in the pretty prairie?

Quietly we all bent down and gathered our mess. Twenty years later, I still do not litter, it is one of the worst things I can think of doing…until recently.

Please, don’t judge me. I can explain. It’s awful I know but somehow these past days I’ve been littering. I feel a tremendous relief as if my non-littering was building up inside me for years and has finally been unleashed into a city that understands. Marseille, you understand me, don’t you?

Every time I teach yoga, I have to walk up the dirtiest street I have yet to find in my life. I don’t think Jeeves or I have managed to walk up or down it without some kind of comment every time:

“Christ, this is disgusting!” Jeeves says with enthusiasm every time.

“Oh, my god, I have to walk in the street, this sidewalk is impossible!” I say knowing damn well that attempting to walk on the sidewalk never pans out.

“That’s human shit. Oh, God! It stinks!”

“Hurry, walk faster, I can’t stand it here!”

“This is the worst street in Marseille.”

“It really is! This is the worst street in Marseille!”

It is not possible to keep our overwhelming thoughts to ourselves while walking on this street. I even take my girls to yoga on Wednesday morning and they say things like:

“Mommy, are you breathing yet?”

“No, I’m still holding my breath.”

“It smells really bad, Mommy!”

“I know, I know. Watch out! Take a big step, that’s pee from a man!”

“How do you know, Mommy? How do you know it’s from a man?”

“Because there’s a lot!”

“Girls, hurry, hurry, this is awful! Breathe out of your mouth.”

“I don’t know how. I still can smell it. Mommy, it’s really bad!”

We’ve been doing this walk almost daily for over a year now. But, it is just such an inspiring street and to top it off, listen to this, it is called Rue des Héros! Do you know what this means? You must have an inkling. It translates to Hero Street! Isn’t that exciting?

This street is home to the prostitutes, drunkards, homeless, and druggies. Sometimes I find needles on the yoga door stoop, empty beer bottles. I watch older and experienced prostitutes stand in the street and younger ones getting into cars with African men. There is a dumpster at the top of the street and at the bottom of the street. Behind the dumpsters serves as a public toilet plus all the trash that people throw alongside the dumpster instead of inside it.

The other night, I was eating a chocolate on my way down rue des héros (have you ever eaten a chocolate while breathing in shit and urine stench?). Feeling overwhelmed and rebellious, I looked left, I looked right and then I threw my wrapper under the dumpster so it could hang out with the other litter and I swear, I felt so fucking proud. It was my Baptism, my rite of passage into Marseillais-dom!

Later that evening over dinner, I told my husband and he was annoyed. “Why do you have to be such a rebel?” he asked.

I thought about his question. “Look, this city is so dirty. It felt good plus my wrapper just joined a pile of wrappers on the street anyway. I’m just adapting…” I explained.

“No,” he corrected me, “you are giving in because it is easier to litter.”

He did have a point, it was easier to litter. But, something about putting my wrapper in a dumpster seemed absurd. There are times when I feel like I’m just standing in a huge wasteland with reminisces of an ancient city, buried somewhere. So, I basically repeated what I had said, “It’s not that I’m rebelling or that it’s easier. But, no one else gives a shit and now I don’t give a shit either.”

“Exactly” he said smiling, “you’re giving in because it’s easier.”

“Whatever,” I said. I knew the truth. I was morphing into a true Marsaillaise.

A few days later, in my little neighborhood, one of my students brought me fresh apricots from her garden. After our yoga class, I walked happily down the street stepping over plastic bags, random shoes, cartons, while eating apricots with my friend Silver.

I held the pit in my hand hesitating whether or not to chuck it. “I know it’s awful, Silver, but hey, it’s Marseille so I’m going to litter like everyone else,” I said and carefully tossed my apricot pit alongside the street as if I were skipping stones on a lake. Then I ate two more apricots and did this two more times. She is from here but bitches constantly so I figured she would be proud of my littering though I don’t really know. Truthfully, I found my behavior a little over the top and uncalled for. I started feeling a little guilty. How far am I going to go with this?

Just yesterday, I started getting sick of my chewing gum. Chew, chew, chew. I reached the point when my gum became god damn annoying and I started thinking, “Why the hell is this gum in my mouth? I need to get rid of it!” So, I got rid of it, right on the side of the road. Of course I made sure to throw my gum close to the edge of a sidewalk where cars park, not smack in the middle of the sidewalk.

I haven’t reached complete and utter disrespect. I’m a respectful litteresse (I just created this personage) I never toss my trash directly in a walking path. (Though I just had an excellent day dream: I’m standing in the street with my garbage bin filled with papers and banana peels. I just stand there dumping it into the street in broad day light. That is what I’d really like to do while shouting, “What do you think of this? Is this how you like it? Want me to go back home and get another bin for ya? Is this how we do things here, huh? I’ll show you litter!”) And, I always make sure no one is behind me before chucking something haphazardly over my shoulder. On the contrary, I have dodged many lit flying cigarette butts.

Littering comes in degrees. I’m a mild litteresse, like someone who smokes a cigarette socially, I litter when I’m among my fellowmen. The worse the litter around me, the more I am inspired to join the party. And if someone just happens to walk in my gum, do you think I really care? No. Because that person could quite easily be the one who let his dog take a shit in front of our door the other day, right?

How did I reach this point of hootlessness? Maybe I’ll come around. Maybe it’s a rebellious phase all people go through at some point in Marseille. I don’t know. But for now, I don’t give a hoot, I pollute.