“You’re a real jerk. You wasted eight . . . aprons on this guy,” says his gangster boss, Tuddy Cicero, played by Frank DiLeo. “I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with you. I gotta toughen this kid up.”
20 ideas to help you go green in the kitchen
You could blame Henry’s waste on basic compassion, a trait with no real value in the underworld in which he traveled. I had no such excuse for my unhealthy relationship with paper towels: I was spinning through one spool after another, as if a parade of gunshot victims were awaiting my ministrations on the front porch.
I was turning to paper towels for every conceivable job: shooing crumbs off counters, drying my hands, cleaning the espresso maker, polishing stainless-steel surfaces, wiping my mouth during meals, absorbing the crocodile tears that I shed for the environment.
I had become the thing I abhor: the wasteful American, the person with enough disposable income to keep his life tidy at the expense of life on this earth, whether plant or animal.
Dirty paper towels can actually be put into a compost pile and therefor have a second use.