It all began in the cafeteria at school. A tiny little thought popped into my head and was quickly thrust aside. Later I found it haunting me; the little plastic squares we use for fruit in the cafeteria create TONS of garbage. One day in school, over lunch, Lindsey and I discussed these plastic containers, and the conversations took off, coming to a halt when she informed me of the rumor that the recycling bin for plastic bottles (located in the cafeteria) wasn't being recycled. Plans were made for the following week to talk to the principal about this myth.
Then came the big day. During FLEX Lindsey and I threw our shoulders back and marched directly for the office. Mr.Principal informed us of the young ladies that had already inquired about these bottles (that were in fact NOT being recycled as we were led to believe). We set off to locate these said young ladies (a.k.a. Sara). Thrilled to hear that others were concerned for the recyclables welfare, they told us the story of how the custodians were to be putting the bags out for these girls to collect. However, these girls had not been notified that the custodians had begun putting these bags out. With great fervor we discussed this further, and it was then that we noticed a near by janitor.
This man told us where the bags were being set. Thrilled because we were allowed to recycle we continued on to make plans. This day was a Wednesday. On Wednesdays East Buffalo Recycling is open; how perfect! At the time all three of us were injured, and so we sauntered down to see the track coach to let him know we wouldn't be attending that afternoon.
When school ended we raced to the locker room to change into sneakers and other suitable clothing. It was then that we set out on our journey to recycle.
Exactly six gigantinormous trash bags were awaiting us. Each carrying two bags hoisted over our shoulders, that were MUCH heavier than anticipated, in the pouring rain, we began to walk. We walked a little less than two miles, from the school to the recycling center. A quarter of the way there we hit our first dilemma; one of the bags had a hole. Fixable? With a bit of innovation, yes. Newly patched with a hair tie, we went forth. Shortly after this we found a hole in a second bag. This too we patched. Our arms weak and tired, we finally arrived.
It was a joyous occasion, until we walked around to the front. There a large sign read: Open Wednesdays 8AM-3:30PM
Unfortunately it was 3:40. We had no phone and no other way of getting those bags anywhere without carrying them. And there was no way in heaven, hell, or on earth that we were about to carry those six ferociously heavy bags back. Instead we stood contemplated our awful situation. During this time I spotted an opening where the fence was suppose to connect with the ground, and it looked big enough to crawl through. There was also a shorter part of the fence (where the barbed wire had been bent down) where the bags could be thrown over. We debated whether "breaking and entering" was a good choice, for about ten seconds. I made a conclusion, my bags were headed over that fence, and over they went. Lindsey and Sara promptly joined in the chucking of the bags. After that I headed for the orifice, under I wriggled through the muddy earth; shoulders to knees I was covered. Lindsey came in behind me. Then came Sara's pants dilemma. She had work directly after this and those were her only pants, so she couldn't get them dirty. First we searched for another way to get in, none was found and so Sara proceeded in the removal of her jeans. After shimmying under the fence she then dawned her fairly clean pants.It was time to tend to the bottles.
Just as began to pick-up the bottles a truck pulled up. Out climbed two men, who opened the gate. They asked what we were doing and how we got in there. We rigorously began to tell the gruesome story, with an apology every-other-line. These men told us to continue, and so we did. They even helped us open the trailer for plastic bottles. For about fifteen minutes we removed lids and talked of how nice these men were, etc. Some of the bottles still had water in them, which is why the bags were so heavy. Out of no where a police officer was standing in our midst. He looked at us with a somber but mostly expressionlessly expression and asked what we were doing. Sara, Lindsey and I spoke rapidly, explaining our situation, telling our story. Of course the bit of how Sara's pants did not get dirty was left out, and "I'm sorry"'s were interpolated all throughout. At the conclusion of our tale he look at us and said "you're very dirty."
With that we humbly replied, "Well sir, it is raining and we crawled under a fence, and threw the damp dirt to get in here."
Police man got our names, numbers, birth dates, addresses and parents name's. When he got to me he asked, "Is you mom Lorraine?"
Meekly and slightly taken back, I responded, "Yes..."
"Your brother still have his drums?" (Our neighbors once called the cops on us because the decided my brothers drumming was a nuisance)
He finished gathering information, and began to lecture us. It went something like this: You know you could be charged with burglary! There are many things you could get hurt on in here, sharp things. If you had been climbing around, you be sure to have gotten injured. It's a very dangerous thing. blah blah blah, burglary, burglary, something about why it's locked up.
Our response, in sweet little voices, and teary-eyed Lindsey: Yes Sir, we know, but we just wanted to recycle. Something else that sounded like regret, and another, but we JUST wanted to recycle. Just...RECYCLE...
Finishing up with the glare of a police officer was not the greatest thing, but it was better than nothing. On our walk home we discussed what how our parents would react. I was pretty sure my mom would be a bit concerned, but nonetheless fine with it. Sara was sure that her parents would understand, and laugh about it. While Lindsey was convinced her mom would kill her (proverbially).

All-in-all it turned out fine, however we no longer recycle on Wednesdays, but on Saturdays at the recycling center near Wolf Field. I, along with Sara and/or Lindsey, can sometimes be sighted walking though Lewisburg with a trash bag packed with recyclables thrown over our shoulders headed towards the center. Feel free to beep and wave.
The parents: My mom found our act of "burglary" responsible, and she continues to this day to tell this story to all her friends. Sara's parents claim that they themselves made that little orifice that we crawled through. Meanwhile Lindsey's mom was not-so-happy, to say the least, but is now a bit more understanding because of some other peoples input.