Can Lady

After moving to Ludington, Michigan we had a bunch of friends and family over to help paint a few rooms in the house we currently rent. As a thank you we bought everyone beer and pizza for dinner after we finished. After most people had left that I night, I distinctly remember cleaning up, separating cans and glass bottles for recycling when my mother-in-law who was wiping down the kitchen counter remarked, "I hope you're not recycling those. You take them back for the deposit."

"Deposit?" I stood there confused. What? We aren't homeless. I had this vision of standing in line at a recycling deposit center with my fellow can-collectors wearing tattered gloves, smelling of aged foods and stale beer, my trash bag slung over my shoulder like Santa Claus. I didn't understand. Every place I lived in my life (Houston, Chicago, Phoenix, Kansas City, Fort Collins, Lawrence, Dallas, New York City) there was a preconceived notion attached to can-collecting-- That's what poor people do.

Later that night:

"Will, are were we poor?"

"No, sweetheart. We are not poor."

I learned that in Michigan every bottle deposit is a dime and those dimes adds up quickly. Everyone takes bottles and cans back for the deposit. Really? Really. So, the above picture is of me and my grocery cart of aluminum wealth. Common practice nowadays.

Note: No, that is not our circa 1989 wood panel soccer mom minivan behind me.