Maine, Schmaine

A post by DP

So, we just got back from a quick trip to Maine. And of course, everyone always expects you to come back saying junk like "Oh, it was just FABULOUS!" and "What an AMAZING place!" and blah blah blah. And sure, the views were stunning, the towns quaint, and the lobster succulent—I can't really complain about the place, right?

Except I'm going to.

I have two problems with Maine.

Problem #1 is the wanton employment of puns on the state's name. Those of you who know me well also know that I'm not afraid to use a good pun every now and then. But the key to puns is using them with discretion. You don't just go throwing them around all over the place, or else they get old—fast. Case(s) in point:

1. Maine Street Motel
2. My Maine Bag
3. Chow Maine Asian Specialties
4. Maine Attraction
5. Mainely Meat Barbecue

And let's not forget my personal favorite:


I know there were more, but those were the, uh, principal offenders. All right, I can't even bear to think about this anymore.

Problem #2 took a little longer to detect, but it's no less heinous. Let me ask you something. Do you remember staring at glass and plastic bottles when you were younger and wondering what the heck HI ME 5¢ REFUND meant?



And then you got a little older and learned that it had to do with recycling. And HI meant Hawaii and ME meant Maine. Well, here I was in Maine, and I realized my dreams had finally come true. I could, if I so desired, waltz down to the recycling center (or even the grocery store), present my bottles, and demand some cold, hard nickels in return. Of course, I didn't have time. But at first it was comforting to know that I could get my refund if I wanted to.

But wait. What, exactly, does the word refund mean to you? If you're thinking "free money," well, let's just say the federal tax withholding program will enjoy continued success as a painless method for Uncle Sam to extract interest-free loans from taxpayers. But I digress . . .

Here's the real deal. I looked at a receipt after a grocery store and realized, to my horror, that I had not only purchased a six-pack of cranberry juice bottles and another of ginger ale (I highly recommend this, by the way), but I had also contributed—you guessed it—5¢ per bottle in the form of a "bottle deposit."

Yep, that's right. You pay that extra 5¢ every time you buy a bottle. There's no benevolent government fairy that gives you nickels for bottles; they're just refunding you the money you already spent.

And don't even try extolling the benefits of recycling and citing completely valid public-policy arguments favoring such plans. My childhood dreams have been shattered, and there's nothing you can say that will bring them back.

Other than that, though, the trip was great.