NOTE: This post has nothing to do with being gay. It probably has nothing to do with growing older either, other than the fact I may sound like a stereotypically grumpy old man. This is just a chance to recover from some of the culture shock I seem to experience every time I find myself in the “great” state of Texas.
They’ve been saying it for decades. Everything is bigger and better in Texas. Is it pride or arrogance? Likely both. But when you boast, you leave yourself open to criticism.
I lived in Texas from 1978 to 1989. I told everyone (in Texas) I left because I couldn’t handle the heat. But there was more, of course. I didn’t like the politics. I didn’t like living life in the closet. I didn’t like how Texas leaned too much into tradition as an excuse to not change over anything.
Driving from Dallas Love Field Airport two hours east to Tyler where my parents live, the “bigger” was constantly in view. My rental car was average-sized, a Nissan Altima. It might as well have been a clown car as I was surrounded on the interstate by oversized pickup trucks, SUVs and semis. There was no way to see over or around the other vehicles as I drove the 70 or 75 miles per hour speed limit. It had me wondering how much harder the drive would have been if I’d driven my Mini Cooper from Denver. (I did not spot a single Mini on the highways going to or from Tyler.) In my mind, bigger was clearly not better.
I made a pit stop along the way to use the restroom. I pulled off at a Buc-ee’s, one of a growing Texas-based chain of massive roadside convenience stores. My parents rave about it so I’d stopped there on my last visit as well. I didn’t get it then, but I thought I’d give it another try. Maybe I’d been a bad mood. Maybe I’d been too anti-Texas. Maybe I just needed to lighten up and immerse myself in good ol’ American consumerism.
I will concede that the restrooms were very large and remarkably clean, as they are reputed to be. But everything else about the place seemed unnecessarily big and just plain unnecessary. I bought nothing. I didn’t even slow to a browsing pace. The restrooms are situated in the middle of the store, intentionally so, no doubt, so you have to pass the maximum amount of merchandise no matter which side of the store you enter from, but just like the duty-free shopping spaces between the security screening area and the departure gates at airports, I was not wooed to reach for my wallet.
Buc-ee’s, schmuck-ee’s. Big—massive even—but not better. Still, I may speedwalk through the centre aisle yet again on my next visit. There is something to be said for being able to stand at a urinal without having my shoes in a puddle of urine.
So “Big” Texas did not impress me. What about the “Better” part?
Sorry, no signs of that. Instead, I found myself frustrated by what seemed like a hell-no-we-won’t-change attitude. Like many a red state, Texas has shifted from conservatism to denialism. Climate change? Hogwash! Environmentalism? Hooey! Let gas guzzling big vehicles dominate the roadways. Let oil and gas continue to be Texas gold. I suppose I expected that. (My parents curse wind turbines.) What surprised me, however, was the lack of change in terms of how things are packaged and consumed.
My parents live in a three-building condominium complex. There is no recycling. Apparently, recycling is optional instead of required. In order to have a recycling program, there needed to be two volunteers in each building to take on the responsibility of pushing wheeled recycling bins to and from the curb once a week. Two people volunteered in my parents’ building, but no one stepped up in either of the other buildings. Lack of full participation meant there would be no recycling at all. I spent my five-day visit being hyper aware of all the recycling materials getting chucked into the trash can. (I packed my paper recycling to take back to Denver.) What’s more, when I parked on a residential side street to go to a café to write, I noticed that each home had only one disposal bin. Everything would be bound for the dump; no separation of goods required. (Incidentally, the café had no indoor seating. As was the case with so many businesses I came across, the drive-thru ruled. Why stop a vehicle from idling? Why park and walk thirty feet from one air conditioned space to another? Let the gas and emissions continue uninterrupted.)
I will admit, I’m obsessive about recycling. I consider the packaging before I put items in my grocery basket. I avoid things that strike me as excessively packaged or come in non-recyclable containers. It just feels like the right thing to do. Imagine then my discomfort during the couple of times I went out to eat with my parents. Plastic straws (which I first viewed as an unnecessary waste in 1992) come with every drink. My parents, both in their eighties, are not big eaters anymore so they always need a to-go package to take home half their meal. In Vancouver, in Seattle, in Portland, in Denver, the to-go containers are made from recyclable materials and are themselves recyclable. In Texas, they still use Styrofoam and give you a large plastic bag to carry two tiny boxes.
Better? Not a chance.
Be better, Texas. Be sustainable. Be willing to change. It’s so discouraging to live in areas where people are genuinely trying to live more responsibly when there are large areas in North America that refuse to adapt. I hear a lot of people say they make changes—or sacrifices—to be kinder to planet Earth on account of concern for what things will be like for their children and grandchildren. I have no offspring. It would be easy for me not to care at all. I could go to my grave not giving a hoot about the future to come thereafter. But I actively seek ways to leave a smaller environmental footprint simply because it seems the right thing to do. I can’t come up with an argument for opting out. Climate change or not, I’d rather err on the side of planet Earth whenever possible. I wish Texas would get on board, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment