Not too long ago, Japan noticed that it was rapidly using up its own natural resources. So the government instituted a mandatory trash recycling program, which today recycles a majority of all consumer-produced trash. But this idea is not a new one to Japan; centuries ago, selling human waste to farmers for fertilizer was commonplace here.

I applaud this program's efforts, but perhaps you noticed the word mandatory in the above paragraph: both garbagemen and neighbors alike would be knocking at my door (they've done so before as reported by other foreigners) if I goofed up the complicated, color-coded, weeklong-trash-pickup system. To wit:

Monday is orange bag day. Just thin plastic bottles, usually from beverages and especially from the vending machines on every street corner. But, stop! Not the plastic bottlecaps! Go put those in the yellow bag.

Tuesday is green bag day. Just glass bottles and aluminum cans. Tut, tut! Not those metal bottlecaps—those go straight into the blue bag, do not pass GO.

Wednesday is red bag day. All burnable trash, paper, and food scraps. All plastic used as food containers. Absolutely no metal!

Thursday is yellow bag day. Hard plastic items, thick plastic bottles, plastic bottlecaps and Styrofoam. Seems simple enough.

But, wait! Thursday is also blue bag day. This is the most mysterious of all the bags. Its description reads: Sundry goods / small electrical appliances. I have yet to take out a filled blue bag on Thursday because, quite frankly, I have no idea what to put in it other than metal bottlecaps (and those don’t seem to fill an entire bag very quickly).

Saturday is another red bag day. But sometimes an extra truck comes along, sporting loudspeakers and a recording that begs residents, ice-cream-truck style, to come outside and bring their large trash items: used futons, videocassette tapes, bricks, pottery….

But most frightening of all, it is frowned upon to wash cooking oil down the sink. Nor can it just be dumped into a handy nearby red bag. No, instead I must use a magic chemical that transforms hot oil into a solid oily block. You may be able to tell from the photo, the box remains CLOSED because I have yet to attempt this mind-boggling process. Likewise, I have yet to try preparing any deep-fry dishes.

For those astute photo observers: yes, that’s a fresh jar of Skippy’s finest peanut butter. Angie found it at an import food grocery a mile away; if you knew how much that jar cost her, you would cry yourself to sleep.