ON THE AVENUES: Trash talking.

ON THE AVENUES: Trash talking.

A weekly web column by Roger A. Baylor.

Political fliers from all parties -- except the Libertarians, who couldn’t afford them.

Empty styrofoam polar pops, portions of cardboard boxes, ATM receipts, fast food containers, and cigarette packs.

Broken glass from whiskey, beer and wine bottles. Soiled tissues, abandoned articles of clothing and used diapers.

Defunct lottery tickets, rusted auto parts, enough nails and screws to build a house, and abandoned plastic children’s toys.

No, I haven’t been hanging out at the landfill with the rag pickers. What I’ve noticed while walking around town over the holidaze is that the landfill’s intended contents (not to mention non-recycled recyclables) are failing to arrive at their final resting place.

The streets are filled with an inordinate amount of garbage, even by New Albany’s traditionally slovenly standards.

Those of a certain age will remember the television advertisement ending with a sad tear rolling down the cheek of a Native American, as he surveys the ugly, polluted landscape. If he were around these days, eying downtown New Albany, he’d be bawling salty buckets – and then tossing them on the ground for someone else to tidy.

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I have both a clarification and a confession to make.

First, I direct this rant not so much to the general public, whom I know to be serial litterbugs and utterly beyond reform, but to my fellow business owners, primarily in the historic downtown business district. Let’s face it. This is New Albany, not Oslo. Local government is not going to clean the streets and sidewalks for us. We must do it ourselves, for no other reason than it being better for business.

Second: Rest assured, I will make no excuses in a doomed effort to absolve myself and my own businesses from their share of responsibility. We’re as guilty as anyone else of tolerating the mess, and I admit it.

Since late November, there has been a pile of leaves near the NABC Public House front door. The same leaf pile appears yearly, in the same spot, and at the same time. Our building is situated such that when the leaves start falling, the gusts swirl them around, and you can watch as the pile materializes. Then it rains. The leaves get wet, and after that, they’re stationary.

Each year, I watch as the pile grows, waiting to see if any employee, manager or fellow owner will address it. As I write, the leaf pile is still there, but with a twist.

It’s the first fall/winter since we declared our building smoke free. All year long the customers (and sometimes employees, even though they shouldn’t) have congregated by the front door to smoke. Scan the perimeter of any smoking area designated for human beings, as opposed to cats, butterflies or Vulcans, and you’ll notice that irrespective of available receptacles placed to collect spent cigarette butts, it’s no better than a 50/50 proposition that they’ll ever come to rest inside one.

Verily, I’d be a wealthy man living alongside George Clooney at a villa on Lake Como if a had a quarter for every time I’ve watched a smoker glance in the direction of an ashcan, then toss the smoldering cigarette to the ground. Accordingly, the yearly leaf pile now is abundantly speckled with cigarette butts.

Naturally, the people smoking don’t care. They’re customers, and we’re obliged to clean up after them; it’s part of the deal. Unless commanded to pay attention, employees won’t police the area, either. Then again, the employees regularly walk past, over and through other parking lot trash without noticing it, while every time I show up at the Public House, I stagger inside with freshly snagged garbage filling both hands.

What can a poor boy do, ‘cept to reflect his damned upbringing? Later today, if the pile’s still there, I’ll grab trash can, broom and snow shovel, and liquidate it, along with the other 12,765 butts that aren’t in an ashcan and haven’t been touched for the past six months – since the last time I did it.

I know, I know. There’s an absence of management skill on display here. Beyond that, perhaps tolerance for squalor owes to nurture vs. nature, or the way slave capitalism degrades. Right wingers may choose to blame it on Obama. All I’m saying is that in 2012, I’m publicly resolving that NABC will do better, because it’s the only way I can scream at the rest of you without being a hypocrite.

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Earlier this week, I was walking through New Albany’s reviving downtown business district, admiring the many wonderful gains. It was fine, as long as I didn’t look down. A business owner and his landlord were chatting. Yards away on the sidewalk, there was a mound of leaves and garbage the size of a child’s wading pool. It was there the following day, too. Yesterday, it was gone – evidently shifted from sidewalk, over curb, and into street, so it could be ignored by the street department we no longer possess.

Shall we hand out garbage bags downtown, the way they give away condoms and clean needles in Switzerland?

I still remember the shopkeepers in Greece and Turkey, in front of their stores before opening, collecting the debris, sweeping up, and then dousing the remaining dust with water from tin cans and pails. It would be an otherwise squalid district, but the storefronts would fairly gleam, and the sidewalks would be spotless.

My fond wish is that all the small, independent business owners in New Albany would join me in resolving to be pro-active about tidiness and first impressions. However, all I can do is vow improvement in 2012 as an individual, and as owner of two business locations, and to spend more time with my own people, educating and supervising, trying to instill the necessary pride and eye for detail.

Maybe I haven’t worked hard enough. Maybe we should all work harder. But something must be done. Please?