The Boston Globe ran a letter earlier this month from a reader who encountered a “grouchy old man” picking up trash at the Park Street subway station while on his way to work. The reader didn’t know who the 81-year-old man was until he revealed his identity, but anyone familiar with former Governor Michael Dukakis’ intense, long-standing passion for keeping the streets of Boston and its surrounding communities litter-free would not at all be surprised by this scenario.
While others might think it’s odd for a man of his stature, the longest-serving governor in Massachusetts history and an ex-presidential nominee, to routinely walk the city streets picking up litter, I certainly don’t. And that’s because I have a confession to make – I, too, am a trash picker-upper.
The objects that I focus my anti-litter crusade on are primarily scratch tickets. To me it’s an extremely personal mission because, as the former executive director of the state lottery, my signature (which I’ve repeatedly been told is entirely too legible) is on the back of each one of the billions of tickets that were printed during my tenure. Like Gov. Dukakis, I have no shame about my not-so-glamorous hobby. I pick up losing tickets (I’ve yet to find a winner in my travels, and yes – I do check) off the streets and out of the gutters while walking with colleagues and while in the presence of total strangers. I even pick up tickets that bear the signature of lottery directors before me while I’m all alone. I toss them into the closest barrel, which is often within sight of the crime scene; and when there isn’t a receptacle nearby, I tuck them into my bag and throw them away when I next encounter a barrel. My biggest hauls are usually on Sundays when I go running, always with a plastic bag in hand. Depending upon my route, I can fill and empty my bag two times on a 10-mile journey.
This isn’t to say that litterbugs on the North Shore aren’t improperly disposing of other items – I just happen to be hyper-aware of lottery ticket trash. In fact, I see far more cigarette butts and just as many Styrofoam coffee cups carelessly strewn in gutters, on sidewalks, buried in sandy beaches, on lawns and wedged in bushes. I probably don’t feel as compelled to scoop up this litter because my name isn’t on any of it, and quite frankly because of its origin – at some point those improperly discarded objects were in, on, or around the mouth of its original consumer.
This leads me to the latest, and perhaps one of the more vile, items that I’ve noticed in abundance. I wouldn’t consider picking them up if my name, address and social security number were imprinted on each. I’m talking about – dental floss picks.
If you are unfamiliar with these hard plastic gadgets that resemble a tiny wrench with a small piece of dental floss attached at the head, then you are probably not spending much time outdoors lately. Although handy for some, these disposable “floss and toss” picks have become a nuisance to many as they have become a very conspicuous litter item of users who are flossing on the streets, in parks, in beaches, and in cars. I gag while thinking about how these items landed anywhere outside a bathroom barrel (and did when I spotted one next to my car door when I left the office last night).
I had braces put on my teeth two months ago, so I can very much relate to the need to floss after every bite of food and also while in less-than-ideal locations. As such, I’d love to think that this phenomenon is the result of a desire to achieve a superb level of oral hygiene by local residents. But let’s face it – it’s really nothing more than a gross display of laziness and total disregard for the cleanliness of our neighborhoods by people with spinach-free grins.
So this plea goes out to you, flossing litterbugs of the North Shore: If you are taking time while on-the-go to clean the gunk from your teeth, can you take an extra five seconds to properly dispose of the floss pick and keep your junk off our streets? The rest of us have enough litter to deal with, so please spare us from stumbling upon evidence that remnants of last night’s dinner was lodged in your molars as we go about our daily activities.
Also, if this plea does not resonate and you feel compelled to continue being a litterbug – can you at least also toss out a winning lottery ticket or two with that pick of yours?
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