Littering

Sometimes a Reese's wrapper is just too heavy to carry all the way down the street. Oops, it falls on the ground, even though most cities place trash cans at nearly every street corner.

So why don't people use them? The advantage to littering is clear: get rid of trash quickly. But it doesn't stop there. Littering is a letting go of responsibility. On a daily basis, littering is quite simply the easiest, least dangerous and most convenient way to break the law.

Sure, city beautification is important. Sure, there are links between a community that takes care of its garbage and a community that boasts superior education systems and low crime rates.

But tell that to the poor guy stuck with a cold cup of coffee in one hand and a steering wheel in the other. Like most games, littering consists of offense and defense. Any kind of litterer can upset the defense (those silly environmentalists), but, in general, there are two kinds: the Dropper and the Thrower.

First-timers are always Droppers. She finishes with a napkin or a wrapper and for a moment thinks about garbage cans in her immediate vicinity. After a quick mental calculation assures her that there are none within striking distance, she looks nervously in both directions and lets the litter fall from her hand. Release and rapture ensue. It's like getting naked in public.

For the Dropper, each time feels like the first time, because she always retains a sense of obligation to the proper disposal of her trash. Further, she bears the distinctive markings of the executive assistant, in that she understands the arbitrary nature of rules but plans her life around their rigidity nonetheless. Let loose, let loose, her instincts tell her. Not until lunch break, her pragmatism intervenes. Some days she takes her disposable salad box back to her desk with her. Other days she comes back from an outdoor lunch redfaced and calm, sated by her midday recklessness. "Good afternoon, So-and-so's office," she answers the phone. No need to be surly; she dropped that tension on the sidewalk already.

Throwers, on the other hand, are the sociopaths of waste disposal. They feel nothing when they litter. The Thrower knew he would litter when he began to eat his food, wipe his hands or drink his portable beverage. When he litters, he hurls his trash away from his person. The Thrower lives life up close, and thus out of sight, for him, is out of mind. It is no coincidence that he also goes in for anything that offers instant gratification. He finishes his coffee and crushes the cup before throwing it. The world has got him down and he doesn't owe it a thing — why should he carry society's burden? He already builds things for people he doesn't like, carries things for people he doesn't like or buys and sells stocks for people he doesn't like.

Together, this team easily overwhelms the defense. Poor environmentalists.

Sometimes, they go so far as to actually try to clean up litter, but these attempts are so ineffectual that they are hardly worth mentioning. Cops, on the other hand, hold some power. They can fine litterers hundreds of dollars for the slightest piece of refuse, but this rarely — if ever — seems to happen.

In fact, some cops actually have been observed to litter, too! Whose side are they on, anyway? Psychologists have come up with a nifty name for what makes this happen: diffusion of responsibility. Diffusion of responsibility works by simple mathematics. Each person has a threshold for action (or inaction, as the case is for refraining from littering). The amount of action required to change a situation is divided by the number of people who might potentially act on that situation. If a person's share of this total action is less than his threshold for personal action, then he doesn't act.

This is why people generally don't go to the trouble of helping someone who has fallen to the ground. It is also why people don't feel it's worthwhile to stop littering.

Where does this game end, you ask? Will the earth implode from the weight of its own trash? Perhaps. But have you ever seen prisoners cleaning up trash at the side of the road? The prison population is increasing, and it's just possible that that the prison system cultivates in these workers a meticulous distaste for litter. Violent offenders who grow to resent litterers might go a long way toward eliminating litter altogether.

But until then, you'll have a hard time convincing me that one fewer Wendy's bag is going to make the litter problem go away. Viva la trash!

— Matthew Rand (matt@mattrand.com)