People who live in dry places are forced -- by their water bills (one hopes), or by public education campaigns or their parched lawns -- to think about water conservation. But why should people with full reservoirs and aquifers care?
The standard (and true) answer is that it takes money and energy to pump, treat, and deliver the water we drink, and the water with which we irrigate our gardens and flush our toilets. But in New York City, where I live, and in many older cities with combined sanitary and storm water systems, there’s another reason to conserve water: big rain storms. As little as 1/20th of an inch of rainfall can, in parts of the city, overwhelm wastewater treatment plants. The plants shut down, and water from both systems -- containing pathogens, hydrocarbons, solvents, heavy metals, street litter, and more -- is shunted untreated into nearby bodies of water.
It had already been raining for more than twelve hours when I went out for a stroll in my sewer-shed yesterday afternoon. I wanted to take a look at Brooklyn’s Gowanus Canal, which hosts 14 combined-sewer outfalls. In the mud-colored water, I noted a lot of floating leaves, oil sheen, and the usual street- and toilet-flushed “floatables” (not my word; the DEP’s), including the common Coney Island whitefish. The outfall pipes were doing their job -- they were flowing.
Later my husband, Peter, and I went out for dinner. We sat in the window of a Thai restaurant and watched bicycle deliverymen stream up the avenue in wind- and rain-whipped ponchos. When the waiter asked, “How is everything?” I decided to be honest. The “stir fry of aquatic vegetables” was overwhelmingly salty. He asked if he could take it back, but I demurred. I had already eaten half of it.
While Peter asked for the check, I went to the bathroom. Imagine my delight when I saw the toilet had a dual-flush mechanism! I dashed back to tell Peter, who was signing the credit card slip while the maitre d’ hovered. “I took the vegetables off the bill,” she said pointedly as I filled out the proffered comment card. “I’m not writing about the vegetables," I said, excitedly. "I'm applauding your dual-flush toilet.”
“Our what?”
I explained the two half circles on the flushing mechanism (a little flush, using a half circle, for this; a bigger flush, depressing both sides, for that), but decided to skip explaining the imperative to conserve water during big rain events.
“I thought that split flusher was a design thing,” she said. “I didn’t know how it worked.”
I’ve been seeing more dual-flush toilets lately (and toilets have been much in the news this past month, what with the Gates Foundation initiative to improve sanitation in the developing world), but little in the way of signage, explanation, or rationale. Even the NRDC’s dual-flush toilets, in the organization’s LEED-Platinum-certified New York City offices, lack flushing instructions. Not a problem for staff, inculcated in the flushing folkways, but visitors?
The maitre d’ agreed that a sign would be a good idea, then Peter and I dived back into the downpour. By the time we got home, a record 7.8 inches of rain had fallen in the last twenty-four hours, causing localized flooding and, of course, unmeasured millions of gallons of untreated sewage to be discharged into city waterways. I had been looking forward to a hot shower. Now I realized it would have to wait.
Images: Top; bottom by bunnicula/Flickr
