I was carrying a big cardboard box down to our recycling room just as I was finishing a beer, so I carried the can down with me as well. The elevator stopped and one of my judgmental neighbors gave me a dirty look as she got on. Beer in the common areas is literally frowned upon by some of the older tenants in my building. I thought about saying something to her, but I couldn't think of anything that wasn't preposterous. Years earlier, when I lived in Salt Lake, they didn't even have recycling pick up. If you wanted to recycle, you had to save all your beer cans and bottles and drive them to a local drop off spot whenever your garage was too full of empties to fit your car. Whenever I would drive there to make a drop off, the interior of my Buick Lesabre piled with bins full of open beer cans, I had similar feelings to that awkward run-in in the elevator. Only instead of a judgmental neighbor giving me the evil eye, I'd be dealing with a Salt Lake cop pulling me over and writing a ticket for 600 open containers in a moving vehicle before booking me in jail on as many consecutive counts. I'd have been in jail for years.