An encounter with a customer today at REI where I work prompted me to ponder some things. An older man came up and asked if I knew anything about bicycles, to which I replied that I knew some. Heavyset and gruff, he was one of those very straightforward older white men who probably led a successful life by ordering people around. He told me he had an older "race" bike, which was "very nice", but he was contemplating selling it so he could get a more comfortable bike. After asking him some questions I figure out he isn't really wanting something built for maximum comfort and that a typical flat bar road bike or performance-oriented hybrid bicycle would do fine for him.
At this point I ask what I always ask when in this situation: "Do you like your bicycle?" Usually I get an affirmative "Yes", to which I then start explaining that you can typically do a lot to a bicycle to help it fit your needs, and that even if a lot has to be done, it usually doesn't cost more than a brand new bicycle. This approach of course doesn't always work; trying to turn a mountain bike into a road bike and vice versa simply won't yield results as good as starting from scratch. But, if something like raising or swapping out handlebars, or getting different tires, can zero in on what someone wants out of their bike, I am always happy to open that option up to them.
The older man didn't seem opposed to the idea, so I went into my usual spiel, in which a main part is me explaining that I love old bicycles and that I prefer to keep old bikes on the road rather than add new bikes to the pavement and trails. There's a few reasons for this, and one I often list is that it conserves resources, as we aren't throwing away a potentially (or perfectly) functional bike for a brand new hunk of aluminum, steel and rubber, which is probably of lesser quality than what the person has already. When I say this, a big smirk creeps across his face. I notice a large, silver revolver stuck into a holster on the back of his belt. His black ball cap has the word "VETERAN" stitched in gold thread across the front.
"How veeeeery green of you!"
I'm sort of shocked by both the comment and the amount of venom in his tone. It insults me, which is odd as I agree with environmental issues, at least in philosophy. Mentally quick on my feet, and angered at his statement, I explain that both of my grandpas grew up in the Great Depression and they both hold onto things. They keep old things running and try to conserve what they use, because it is expensive to do otherwise and just unethical to waste.
His tone softens and he agrees that he doesn't like to throw things away. We ended up reaching a compromise, although I think he still thought of me as some kind of "environmental hippie."
As the day wore on, this event bothered me. It bothered me that the current mindset of a lot of people is to go out and buy buy buy. Has the consumerism that has run rampant since the 1980's finally snuffed out older American values, such as conservation and making do with what is given to us? Are these ideas now branded as controversial, left-wing and liberal by those who may have at one time embraced them?
Although I am only twenty-three at this very moment, and not that old at all, I was brought up to not waste things. My family didn't have a "clean your plate" rule at the dinner table, but I know from experience that what my mom made for dinner was what we ate, end of story. My dad did almost everything that had to be fixed or built by himself, which saved the family a lot of money. Even on TV shows which either praise or lampoon traditional American values, you get phrases like "We can't do that, it's wasteful".
Now we have the Kardashians. Now we are living in a time where America is more interested in celebrity drama than NASA. Kids aspire to be professional athletes, and rockstars, but go to college to be lawyers and doctors. The handy-man is seen as a lovable tramp, a low-life necessity in this world of things that move and go, and breakdown. It is difficult to find something that is repairable in a store. A broken lamp is sitting behind me right now because there is no way for me to open it up without damaging it, to try and figure out why it won't turn on. It is destined for Goodwill. When something breaks, buy a new one. I'm guilty of it just as much as the next person. But it feels wrong, and when I think about it, I don't agree with it. I wasn't raised this way! So why am I acting like this?
I guess my point is that by branding the same idea as a core value carried by those who lived through the Great Depression, I was able to shatter the anti-environmental, anti-"green" connotation that immediately soured the gun-toting Texan. Hemp-sandaled politics suddenly morphed into the creed of our fathers and grandfathers. Why did we forget these values? What happened?
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