"box" announcements are getting aggressive

In my apartment building, the way it works is that you throw your garbage into sorted containers at the B1 level. Most of the sorting is for recycling purposes: plastic bottles and PET containers go in one hamper; drink cans and small, metallic objects go in another; plastic shopping bags and other sheet-like bits of plastic (called "vinyl" in Korean—비닐/binil) go in a third; clothing and other worn items go into a fourth hamper. There's a large space in which to throw one's generic garbage; there's a separate room with various garbage cans into which one can throw one's food waste (which you bag up in special, yellow bags); there's an area specifically for throwing away chairs, an area for other furniture, another area for fluorescent lights, and supposedly an area for different kinds of paper, but I've never figured that one out and have gotten yelled at by the crabby old bastard who struts around the garbage area, looking like the king of his own little dunghill. Anyway, in the same area as the paper disposal, there's a large volume of space devoted to throwing away cardboard boxes.

Perhaps because of the skyrocketing rise of delivery culture, we residents who use Coupang and other shopping/delivery services often receive our ordered products in boxes both big and little. As a result, the number of boxes being thrown away downstairs has grown to unmanageable proportions, and what most of us residents do (yes, me included) is to just toss the empty boxes onto the large, chaotic pile of boxes already there. From the perspective of the mean old man (and, I imagine, his cohorts) who manages the garbage situation, this has become untenable, so since last year, we've begun seeing signs about how we need to follow a certain box-throwing etiquette: first strip off all the packing tape from every box, then deconstruct, flatten, and fold your boxes before placing them in a neat, orderly fashion in the box-tossing area. And most of us (yes, me included) have ignored the initial announcements about this, posted on public walls and inside elevators. I used to stare at such signs with a mildly blank curiosity. They somehow didn't seem relevant.

But now, we've got the PA announcements. One of the loveliest aspects of living in a large, Korean apartment building is that you're subject to routine PA announcements inside your own apartment. I find these announcements to be a rude, disturbing, Orwellian invasion of privacy, but I don't make the rules, and since I live in Seoul, this is part of the price I pay to remain in Korean society. PA announcements are everywhere, including in quiet city parks and even out in the extra-urban farmland, where you'd think you'd be spared the goddamn noise. But, no—as my walks through Korean farmland have taught me, there's no escaping the PA: You will be assaulted by mostly irrelevant noise, like it or not, even when you're out with the cows and the sheep and the ducks and the tractors and the fields. Anyway, the PA announcements in my apartment building now include announcements about box-disposal etiquette, so with Big Brother essentially breathing down my neck, I've reluctantly begun to follow that etiquette. I don't normally have a huge number of boxes to throw away, luckily, so it's not that onerous of a chore, but I do find myself grumbling resentfully as I prep and fold every little (and occasionally big) box.

This means I peel off the shipping box's tape, ball or fold it up, and throw it away separately; I do leave the paper shipping labels on the boxes since they're not tape, per se, and thus far, no one's complained. I deconstruct and fold the boxes down to a manageable size, and when I have the opportunity, I tote them down to the B1 level and dispose of them. Neatly. Orderlily.

I think what I resent about these little, incremental additions of obligatory procedure in my life is how these additions chip away at my free time, my breathing space, my liberty. But, you might respond, by coming to Korea, you already chose to sacrifice many of the liberties that Americans (well, at least red-state Americans) enjoy. That's on you, buddy. Yeah, I've got no rebuttal to that. I did indeed make a choice to reside here, to stay here. Besides, taking responsibility for your own garbage isn't necessarily a bad thing. If anything, it's in the same spirit as my resentment of irresponsible fucks who litter in parks and on the trail. The world is only getting more crowded, and this garbage problem is only going to get worse. More and more, we have to see our world as an increasingly crowded, claustrophobic community.

Of course, it'd be nice to have Mr. Fusions of different sizes all over the place, constantly gobbling trash and converting it pollutionlessly into usable energy. Imagine having a Mr. Fusion unit that uses your garbage to power your apartment. A single kilogram of garbage could theoretically power hundreds of apartments for months, or just your own apartment for years. And how much garbage do you actually produce monthly? Dozens of kilograms, I'm sure. Imagine if you had a Mr. Fusion hooked up to your toilet so that all of your waste—not just Coupang boxes and bags—could be converted into fusion fuel. It's a fantasy, I realize, but damn, what a fantasy. Imagine if the system were such that 60% of your fuel got converted to energy while the remaining 40% came back to you as money. The motivation to keep our streets, parks, forests, and other natural land clean would be extremely powerful. Countries that have rivers, creeks, and sewers clogged with filth and fatbergs would be cleaned up so fast that it would make your head spin and your dick scream for mercy.

But ain't nuthin' like that happening in my lifetime. Ah, well. In the meantime, I need to get back to folding up boxes. And cringing every time the PA comes on.