6 months at the landfill

Today is my last full-day of work at the Edmonton Waste Management Centre, where I have been working as a Project Engineer on a temporary basis since this March. To be honest, it’s been difficult to explain to friends and acquaintances what it is that I actually do at the landfill. “Are you a garbage sorter? A litter picker-upper?” These frequent cheeky comments makes me want to literally whack them over the head with a piece of refuse, like maybe a greasy pizza box or perhaps a broken lamp shade, oh…wait…I think I just spotted an old pillow. By and large, the general public does not have a clue what happens to their garbage once it gets picked up from the curb and they really do not care to think about it.

There are two landfills, one private and one public, that serves the greater Edmonton area and both are running out of space. Even with the MRF, the recycling plant that sorts and processes recyclables from the blue bag program and the gargantuan indoor composter that turns residential waste and biosolids into useful, pathogen-free compost, the City still has to landfill over 400,000 tonnes of waste annually. Picture mountains of take-out containers, cheap, low-quality clothing, shoes and appliances that are made to break in a year, couches and mattresses, health care waste, etc. that can’t be recycled nor composted and needs to be buried in a giant man-made pit. The landfill is the final resting place for so much “stuff” that might have once been sought after, dearly cherished by its owners but now is rejected, and forsaken. Other waste coming from our ICI clients like home renovators, restaurants, 1-800-Got-Junk types of companies, and schools also goes straight to the mass burial grounds because they are currently not a part of the recycling or composting program.

One of the City’s innovative solutions for our garbage problem is a waste-to-biofuel facility, slated for 2011, that will gasify non-compostable organics and non-recyclable plastics into a synthetic gas which can then be converted into methanol and ethanol. The biofuels facility combined with the MRF and composter, will help Edmonton to achieve the target of 90% diversion of residential waste from landfills. Edmontonians should feel some sense of civic pride, as I am certain that no other Canadian and perhaps American city is close to reaching that target.

As for my role here, it’s just a typical project management kind of job, good work but underrated. Nothing that would make you leap up and yell, “THAT’S AWESOME! I’ve always dreamed of doing THAT!!!” Alternatively, think of me as a little cog in the magnificent machine that is waste management, whose sole purpose is to take away reminders of our wasteful, fickle and materialistic lifestyle as fast as possible and make us forget we ever bought what we threw out.


Glossary and Abbreviations

Biosolids – residuals from the wastewater treatment process, a combination of partially decomposed organic matter, pathogens and other grotties.

ICI – Industrial, Commercial, Institutional

MRF – Materials Recovery Facility

For more information on the Edmonton Waste Management Centre:

http://www.edmonton.ca/Environment/WasteManagement/EWMC/ewmc_%20for_%20web.pdf

Just a frog in the well

Sometimes when I try to explain to my mom an intellectual or scientific concept that I've just learnt about and it goes completely over her head, she'll say (in Chinese), "Yeah, I don't get it. I'm just a frog in the well."

"A frog in a well" is an old Chinese idiom that refers to an individual who is confined to a really small world view due to the lack of variety in their life experiences. For some individuals, the narrow perspective through which they view the world is due to socioeconomic circumstances and an unfortunate lack of opportunities. For others, it's by choice.

In 2007, I had some free time and chose to volunteer at a drop-in service referral centre for youth aged 14 to 24. During my stint there, I was able to help these at-risk or already-in-trouble youth with simple things like: provide them with some food in exchange for chores, point them in the direction of the nearest medicentre or help them with their job search. Other times we would play chess, watch a movie or just hang out on these revoltingly stained, beige suede couches that reeked of the stereotypical stale, pungent, streetperson smell. During the various conversations that I felt honored to be invited into, I kept hearing the same stories. All of them were living a hand to mouth existence, bouncing from job to job, surviving on PJ sandwiches and instant noodles, staying in an unhealthy relationship, or getting excited about the start of a soon-to-be unhealthy relationship, pregnancy scares, and along with the "Oh NO... I'm really pregnant. Not again." As an outsider, the dysfunctionality was so blatant. But to them, the details of their lives were completely normal. They have never experienced having healthy, loving relationships with non-abusive family members and partners. They have never experienced sleeping in a comfy bed, and not having to worry about where their crackhead parents are and if they'll finally buy food tomorrow. They have no idea what's like to handle their workplace angry or frustrations in a way that keeps them from getting fired. To them, life just doesn't get better than when you have someone to hold and sleep with, even if it's just for a little while, even if they mistreat you; or if you managed to score two brown bags of food from Herb Jamieson instead of the one; or you were able to spent a hour at the referral centre catching up with your buddies on Nexopia; or you don't have to sleep at the shelter today, because a friend is letting you crash on their couch. We non-homeless people see all the potential that life has in store for them. But they might not, they are all like little frogs living down a well, not knowing that a big and wonderful world is outside and not having the expectation for anything better.

Don't despair folks. As bleak as the situation at the drop-in centre might seem, occasionally one of the little frogs do realize that they need to get out of the well and they will try and try again until they do.

As for a less dramatic example, one day after work, I was carpooling with a young co-worker, David, who was sharing about how greatly his life has been enriched by his travels. He explained that one of the main reasons he still drives his dented, rusted out '93 Corolla was that he chose to spent his savings on traveling rather than a new car. David believes that he's gotten way more out of life than his older brother, who's a recent grad, and chose the new car route. I responded, "You place a high priority on expanding your life experiences and worldview. But not everyone thinks that way. Your brother and other people may be perfectly satisfied with their lives because they don't know what they're missing."

So there you have it. Two examples of "Frog in the Well".

Sometimes, thinking of the kids at the drop-in centre makes me wonder if in some ways, I am still just a Frog in the Well. Are there any areas in my life where I am simply settling for what is easy and comfortable? How can I challenge myself beyond status quo? I fully believe that the biggest rewards in life come with the biggest risks. The most important thing to remember is that new experiences do not just fall into one's lap. They must be actively pursued, or else by default we will take the path of least resistance, and just simply do what we've always done and continue to be the person that we've always been.

Lessons from an Olympian

I just spent the past 3 hours watching CBC's coverage of the Olympics. During this time, I first witnessed Michael Phelps effortlessly freestyle his way to another world record, then watched the Chinese Men's gymnastic team triumphantly "vault" beyond their US and Japan contenders in the team event. But what impacted me the most tonight, was not the victories, but the mistakes. One that stood out especially occurred in the high-bar event, when a German gymnast, Fabian Hambuechen, had a hand slip from the bar during a typical transition and the next thing I know he was dangling off the bar like a kid on the jungle gym. Just prior to this, the announcer was going on and on about their high expectations for Hambuechen and the thrill that the crowd is going to get from his highly difficult and elegant routine. I was shocked and empathetically devastated; but in the moments the followed, those feelings were replaced with hope and admiration as he quickly adjusted the taping around his wrist, got boosted back on the bar by his coach, and completed his original routine with a near-perfect landing.

So maybe I've never experienced the pressure of competing at an international event with billions of viewers, but I remember royally botching two performances, both during my teenage years and in a team setting. The first mess up was a trumpet solo in a Grade 9 Jazz Band competition in Saskatchewan. I froze during 16 out a 22 measure Basin Street Blues solo. Woo boy! I thought my band teacher would say something, but she never did. Then in Grade 10, I was in a cheerleading competition, again in Saskatchewan. One of the cheerleaders got injured the night before competition, which led to last minute formation changes that affected me and the sequence of some of my choreography. Yeppers! I, again, froze during competition for 16 dance beats. During the 8 seconds of agonizing hell, I first wished mightily for the power of invisibility. Then I thought, "Well, I'm in exactly the centre of this formation. Maybe they won't notice that I'm not moving since everything is symmetrical." Thankfully, I was able to snap out of it and finish the rest of the routine without incident.

You'd think I took those incidents really hard; I'm definitely not the poster child for Under-achieving Asians. But I didn't. I guess, I must've not taken those activities too seriously. It's not like I was in the Olympics or something.

So back to Fabian Hambuechen. I don't know what he's feeling now. But I really appreciated his display of perseverance, and his ability to suck it up and finish the job for his team. Not everyone can compete in the Olympics, but anyone can choose perseverance. Life is all about jumping back on the proverbial horse. Hopefully mine isn't too wild.

Buyer's Regret - $3.47 frozen pizza

Ever worship the cheap.  Ever buy a mediocre product just because the price was ridiculously low.  Today, it all started when I found myself, with mother in tow, in the relatively new Walmart Supercentre(?) near South Common, looking for buttons to replace a missing one on a pair of jeans.  (Please give me some credit for buying buttons, instead of simply tossing out the $10 jeans).   After I grabbed the buttons, I felt the strong "invisible hand" pulling me to check out the deals in this gargantuan one-stop-shop.  Strolling through the frozen aisles, I found an amazing bargain for 12', deluxe, frozen pizzas by some American brand that I've never heard of.   $3.47!  How is that possible?  There's so many contributing factors for the unbeatable price.   The simplest explanation is that Walmart can subsidize the losses on the pizza with the overall profit that the store makes in other areas.  

We consumers only care about the price but not the true cost of our purchases.  Going back to the $3.47 for my pizza.  The components of the pizza came from all over the country.  For example, the cardboard packaging originated from trees that were logged, then sent to a pulpmill, then a papermill, and then to the pizza plant.  The flour, meat, cheese, and vegetables also are likely to have come from different regions of the continent.  What were the resource extraction, farming, manufacturing, and transportation costs that went into the pizza? What would be the true cost of that pizza if we not only considered those costs but were also incorporate the cost of giving every employee who had a part in making it a fair wage and humane working conditions.  Okay, maybe I'm a bit too pessimistic in thinking that the workers in the pizza plant are all illegal aliens; but I really don't think it's such a stretch.    

In the end, I ate the stupid pizza and it wasn't good.  Mom said it was salty, and I thought the crust was too doughy, the sauce too pasty and the toppings too sparse.  I guess I got what I paid for.