(Episode 2) The Class Society Inside a Trash Can
Held in the janitor's hand, I was carried toward a public trash can. It was made of gray plastic, with the words 'General Waste' written on it.
"In you go."
A careless hand tossed me in. I tumbled once in the air and fell into the darkness. Thump. I landed on something soft.
"Ouch! Who's that?" "S-sorry!"
I quickly righted myself. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I began to see my surroundings. I had landed on a black plastic bag. A tear in its side reeked of food waste.
"You should be more careful. First time here?" the plastic bag asked in an irritated voice. "Yes... I just got here..." "Then move to the side for now. This is the drop zone. If you stay here, you'll get hit."
I hastily rolled aside. Just then, a plastic bottle fell from above. Thwack. The plastic bag sighed. "See? Told you."
Looking around, I realized the trash can was a more complex space than I had imagined. It was divided into several layers, with different kinds of trash occupying each one.
"The... atmosphere here is a bit strange, isn't it?" I asked cautiously. "Strange? This is a society, too. A trash can society," the plastic bag replied cynically.
"See that, the very top layer?" the bag said, tilting its 'head' upwards. It was the relatively clean area just below the trash can's opening. "That's the first-class section. Luxury shopping bags, clean paper cups, new product packaging. That's where they gather."
Indeed, things that had once been luxurious were gathered there. I saw a shopping bag with a Louis Vuitton logo. Though torn and crumpled, it still held its position.
"I... was Louis Vuitton," the shopping bag muttered. In the past tense. "I came from a famous luxury boutique. I once held a $5,000 bag. But now..." He couldn't finish the sentence. But I knew without him saying. Now, he was just a piece of paper in a trash can.
"You never know. Someone might pick you up," I said, trying to comfort him. "Pick me up? Ha!" the shopping bag scoffed. "Who would pick up a torn shopping bag? But I will stay here until the end. At the very top. I'm different from those things down there." His voice was a strange mix of pride and despair.
"What you see below that is the second class," the plastic bag continued. "General plastics, cans, paper cups. Things like us. Once useful, but now just... the middle class?" I checked my position. I was squarely in the second-class section. Around me were cola cans, water bottles, and snack bags.
"Then what's down there?" I asked, looking at the dark, damp bottom of the can. "Third class. Food waste, wet tissues, cigarette butts... I don't even want to talk about it." A clear disdain was mixed in the plastic bag's voice.
Just then, a voice called out from the side. "Hey, you! The new can!" I turned to see a beer can looking at me. Its body was dented, covered in scratches. "What are you? Premium? Coffee?" "Yes... Premium cold brew." "Premium? Ha!" The beer can sneered. "It's all the same in here. Aluminum is aluminum." "But I was 2,800 won..." "Price? What good is that here? See that golden wrapper over there? Says it's imported chocolate. So what? It ended up here just the same." I was at a loss for words. He was right. We were all thrown away.
Suddenly, something fell from above. It was a shiny golden wrapper. It looked like it was from a chocolate. "Oh, excuse me!" The golden wrapper politely greeted us and climbed up to the first-class section, settling next to the luxury shopping bag. "Hey, what do you think you're doing up there?" a plastic cup from the second-class section challenged. "I'm a Ferrero Rocher wrapper. A premium chocolate," it declared. "Just a chocolate wrapper!" "Just? I'm an imported product. I am different from you all."
A stir went through the trash can. "How are you different?" "We were all thrown away!" "Who cares if you're imported, you're here with us now!" But the golden wrapper was adamant. It believed it belonged at the top, and it stayed there.
I felt a strange sensation watching this scene. Even after being discarded, we were still creating a hierarchy. Arguing about our origins, our prices, our brands. "Funny, isn't it?" the beer can said cynically. "We're all trash. Luxury, premium, or imported. In the end, we're all here." "Then... are we all the same?" I asked. "Of course. The moment we're thrown out, we're all the same. Oh, but," the beer can pointed downwards. "Except for them. They're truly different."
At the bottom, food waste was clumped together. Rotting fruit peels, wet tissues, cigarette butts. They were silent. Or rather, they looked too weak to even speak. "They... can't even be recycled," a water bottle said quietly. "We might get to be reborn, but they just rot and disappear. The true end." A heavy silence fell.
The luxury shopping bag muttered again, "I was Louis Vuitton..." The golden wrapper stroked its shiny surface. "I'm still sparkling..." A plastic cup sighed. "We may be second class, but at least..." Everyone looked down and felt a sense of relief. At least we're better than that. At least we can be recycled.
Just then, the lid of the trash can opened. Light poured in. Someone threw in a cup ramen container. It spun in the air and landed precariously between the second and third classes. "Um... where should I go?" the cup ramen container asked. No one answered. It was plastic, but it had food residue inside. It was recyclable, but it hadn't been cleaned properly. Was it second class, or third? "You should have been washed," the water bottle said coldly. "A dirty recyclable... is just trash." The cup ramen container slowly rolled down. Into the third-class section. "No! I'm plastic! I can be recycled!" it cried. But no one listened. Or they pretended not to.
Watching this, I realized. We were still being judged even after being thrown away. Clean or dirty. Recyclable or not. Branded or generic. And everyone justified their own class, feeling relieved by looking down and envious by looking up. "Isn't it strange?" I asked the beer can. "We were all discarded, so why are we still creating a hierarchy?" "Because it's a habit," the beer can replied. "It's what we learned when we were full. That we had to be more expensive, more luxurious, cleaner. That habit remains even after we're empty." "So are we really different?" "I don't know. But one thing's for sure." The beer can looked up at the ceiling. "There's only one way out of here. The collection truck. And when it comes, nobody cares about class. We all just get loaded up together." "The collection truck?" "Yeah. Usually comes in the evening. It lifts the whole can and dumps us into the truck. That's when Louis Vuitton, cup ramen, and cigarette butts all get mixed together."
I looked up at the ceiling. I could see a sliver of blue sky through a gap in the lid. "But you know," the beer can said again. "In a way, I think that's fairer. When we're loaded onto the truck, that's when we're truly equal. Doesn't matter who was on top or who was clean. We all go together, all mixed up." In that moment, I understood. This class society was a fantasy we had created. A way to cling to some meaning, to deny that we had become completely useless. But in the end, we would all be loaded onto the same truck. We would all go to the same factory. We would all melt in the same furnace. Then, there would be no Louis Vuitton, no premium, no imported. Just aluminum, plastic, paper. That was our true identity.
"By the way," the plastic bag said. "I think it's collection day. Judging by the angle of the sun, it's almost evening." "Really?" "Yep. The truck will be here soon. Then we all get out of here together." My heart pounded. We were moving on to the next stage. I didn't know where we were going, but at least we were leaving this cramped, dark trash can. "Are you scared?" the beer can asked. "A little. We're going to an unknown place." "Well, it's not like we have a choice. But hey," the beer can chuckled. "That makes it easier. No need to worry about it." Just then, we heard the sound of a truck in the distance. The luxury shopping bag grew tense. "Already? So soon?" The golden wrapper trembled. "I-I'm not ready..." But the truck didn't wait. Clang. The trash can was lifted. And in an instant, we were all flying through the air. First class, second class, third class. Louis Vuitton, premium coffee, cup ramen, and cigarette butts. All mixed together, pouring into the truck's container. Tumbling through the air, I thought, 'So this is equality.'
My Thoughts! Even after being discarded, we create hierarchies. We judge each other by our alma mater, job title, salary, or neighborhood. Like the luxury shopping bag in the trash can, we cling to the past, saying "I used to be different," to deny our current situation. But all these labels that hide our essence—are they really you? What the empty can saw in the trash can was an illusion. Whether premium or low-cost, they all ended up on the same collection truck. What mattered wasn't the brand, but the material. What is your true value? The label others put on you, or the very being that is you? What remains after all the shells are stripped away—that is your true self.
Next Episode Preview: Episode 3 'The Illusion of Recycling - The Chaos of Sorting' - Is being thrown away properly also a skill? #AnEmptyCansDay #ClassSociety #TrashCanPhilosophy #LabelsVsEssence #TheRealMe
