is name was Fred. He was being treated for OCD by a clinical psychologist friend of mine, Alf. Fred’s OCD took a very specific and unusual form. You know how litter louts will simply dump their rubbish anywhere anytime? Well, Fred was the exact opposite: he was a picker-upper, on a heroic scale. And, you may say, a very good thing too. If we have litter louts (and we do), then surely we need our picker-uppers too? And in fact we do indeed have small armies of civic-minded citizens, intent on keeping our green and pleasant lands green and pleasant, so far as possible. Protecting the environment and wildlife. Thanks to them, cows won’t have to die choking on plastic bags, and fish and ducks won’t have to suck up all the cigarette butts and assorted detritus we are apt to chuck in every brook and river.
But consider the fundamental reality for Fred. One day he really wants to get to the station to catch a train to attend an important meeting. But as soon as he gets outside his front door he spots a Coke can on the pavement. Has to stop and pick it up. Then, as he walks further down the street, he stoops to pick up a Burger King bag, then a few of those totally unrecyclable Styrofoam boxes, topped off with numerous sauce sachets. Before he can get anywhere near the station he has been obliged to stop again and again to pick up one thing or another. Imagine the number of cigarette butts (which are made of cellulose, not paper) between A and B. Maybe the odd sofa or mattress too. It’s like a Zeno’s paradoxes in which there is an infinity of garbage preventing you ever getting anywhere. Needless to say, Fred does not make it to that important meeting or the station. Instead of that he is carrying a giant sack around, like Father Christmas, filled with presents you don’t want donated by idiots.
My friend Alf eventually worked out a way of treating Fred. He called it “mimetic deterrence”. He would go out with Fred, and as soon as he spotted an offending item in the street he would swoop and pick it up before Fred could. Eventually Fred would say to him. “What’s wrong with you? You’ll never get anything done if you’re stopping to pick up litter all the time!” Never a truer word.
