Chasing the Waste
Katie Noonan, Silent Crow Arts Associate Producer
I remember the days when I thought working in television would be a glamorous star-studded adventure. A fast track to red carpet, paparazzi, fortune and fame. Ah yes, I remember it well. The days before I met the Garbage Moguls. The days before I knew what it was like to stand knee-deep in cookie wrappers, milk cartons and whatever waste stream TerraCycle inherited at that moment. The days before I knew what worm poop looked like.
Walking in to TerraCycle is walking in to a dizzying whirlwind of creativity; chaos, madness and pure genius. Learning about TerraCycle is inspiring, and makes you change your views on garbage completely. You’re excited by their unending drive and work ethic. You’re a little less attracted to their business model when you are with them for their 100 hour days… in Trenton… New Jersey.
After a few weeks of production, I was happy to return home. Being on set is exhilarating but also exhausting. My responsibilities are outlined rather loosely, resulting in a lot of running around, and not knowing the right place to be or just what to do. It’s reality TV, so no interfering. And after watching some of the initial footage, it turns out that when I was running away so as not to be in the camera’s view, I WAS ALREADY IN THE FRAME. The embarrassment of ruining stuff takes its toll, so I was happy to be back behind my desk.
Until my boss approached me with the news that the Garbage Moguls team will be collecting some special garbage item at 8 a.m. the next morning. Follow up news: I’ll be directing it. Woofs.
When the day is done, Albe drops me off at the train station, and I get out of the car, open the back door, and take out the camera and all the gear. As I’m pulling, a scrap piece of refuse floats gracefully from the backseat onto the pavement just beyond my reach.
Now, in a normal situation, a normal person would shut the door, gather the equipment, and head into the train station. I am not a normal person. Immediately I think “Oh no! They’ll hate me!” Because it’s GARBAGE. And they make their living, um, well, out of GARBAGE.
So I charge towards the scrap, and it scuttles further out of my reach, blown to the front of the car. I go after it. This trash is not going to beat me. I bend over; stretch out my hand, the paper flies forward. I run. It stops. I grab. It moves. This continues for as long as necessary to go from funny to absurd.
Finally Albe yells at me to let it go. I turn around, confused. But it’s GARBAGE? I walk back to the car as he sternly tells me what’s what. “You don’t leave your $12,000 equipment unattended in Trenton to go chasing after a piece of GARBAGE.”
Dang it.
^M
