Peanuts produce a lot of oil en route to peanut butter. Manufacturers will often enhance the product with extra peanut oil for extra creaminess. Like most hydrophobic substances, gum is lipophilic— fat-loving. When you massage a dollop of peanut butter into the affected hair, the oil attracts the gum base. As the peanut butter is worked between hair and gum, the lipophilic substance sticks to the lipids in oil; the sticky wad of gum becomes less sticky. Many can attest that this is a phenomenon worth reveling in. Yet, between lipophilic bonds, a question is obscured: What phenomenon repeatedly infects human hair with wads of gum?
Thomas Adams is credited as the inventor of
modern chewing gum. With this invention he also
brought the vending machine to the United States. In
1888, machines vending Tutti-Frutti gum—a product
of the Thomas Adams Gum Company—emerged
on subway platforms in New York City. Tutti-Frutti
paved the way for coin-operated machines vending a
host of other items: cigars, postcards, stamps and soda
followed gum’s lead.
In 1907, round candy-coated gumballs and
their gumball machine complements were introduced.
For over a century, the gumball machine has maintained
its status as an American icon and storefront staple.
As a young girl, I swooned at the sight of the candied
gumballs inside those glass globes, became limp at my
mother’s arm as we entered the grocery store. Just
one, I promised. Just one.
Visits to my grandparents’ house were made
thrilling by the miniature gumball machine my
grandfather kept stocked above his desk. Next to the
machine was a coffee mug brimming with pennies.
These pennies conferred my sisters and me the freedom
to dispense gumballs at our leisure. We did.
One at a time, we would climb atop the desk, insert
a penny into the coin slot, turn the crank, and listen
for the falling gumball. Dispense, chew, spit, repeat.
Dispense, chew, spit. We challenged each other:
How many gumballs can you fit into your mouth at
one time? Dispense, chew. Dispense, chew. Dispense,
chew.
Much of what my sisters and I did in my
grandmother’s presence was met with scorn. Stripes
were not to be worn with polka dots; forks were to
be set to the left of the plates, not the right; bowel
movements and flatulence were not to be talked
about. Yet we talked to our grandmother through
wads of gum the size of golf balls. She never said a
word about it.
It was not until 2003 that New York City
Mayor Michael Bloomberg identified those little black
dots on the sidewalk. That’s gum, he revealed to New
Yorkers during his regular radio program. That’s
gum, he repeated, as if he found this news hard to
believe. Harder to believe is how unreadily those little
black dots are identified.
Indeed, it is easy to pay no notice to black
blobs underfoot; hardened pieces of discarded gum
have become an urban hallmark. New York City’s
12,500 miles of pavement are home to a dense, gumsmacking
population. Yet it took almost a year in
office for Bloomberg to realize that he was mayor of
a gum splotch epicenter. A New York Times article
following his discovery suggested that, despite the
mayor’s surprise, those black splotches are no urban
mystery. Instead, their identity is shrouded only by a
lack of anthropological curiosity.
Discarded gum is artifact, found where
abandoned. As foot traffic continues to pound wads
of gum into the pavement, it is obvious that this is one
human record we would rather not discern.
Bubblegum Alley smells like bubblegum,
sweet and familiar. In downtown San Luis Obispo,
California, the fifteen by seventy foot walls of this alley
are lined with decades of used gum. Wads pink,
green, blue, yellow, orange, white. Big wads, little
wads, medium wads. Wrappers and coins stuck to
wads. Wads stretched and contorted into shapes and
letters. Multiple wads make words and illustrations.
Bubblegum Alley is, forever, a mural in progress—an
expression of the contemporary oral tradition.
Seattle’s Gum Wall is art of the same genre. This
offbeat city landmark has its origins in the early
1990s, when patrons of the Market Theatre began
sticking their gum on the wall while waiting in line
for a ticket. In 2009, it was named one of the world’s
“germiest” attractions. Germs are no deterrent:
Gum Wall continues to grow in length, height and
width as passers-by tack on used gum. The habit, it
seems, stuck.
When it comes to hard surfaces, peanut
butter is futile. No one understands this better than
Daimer Industries, an international vendor of vapor
steam gum removal systems. An informational
video on the company website shows a stretch of city
sidewalk before and after the use of one of Daimer’s
products. Black splotches disappear with the vapor
steam cleaning system. Even the blackest, stickiest
chewing gum wads will dissolve within seconds. Just
ask the Gum Guy.
Since his purchase of a Gum-Exterminator
chewing gum removal machine, Tony Croshier, also
known as the Gum Guy, has become one of Daimer’s
most successful customers. In just nine weeks,
Croshier’s chewing gum removal business generated
over $85,000 in revenue, ridding schools, churches,
hospitals, retail spaces, sports facilities and the like
of sticky litter. He attributes his success to Daimer’s
chewing gum removal system. How does Daimer do
it?
The Gum-Exterminator has the capacity to
remove thousands of wads of gum a day. High-temperature
steam and a chemical solvent work together
to dissolve and soften gum. The stainless steel brush
scrubs and loosens the residue while the vacuumextraction feature cleans up. Gum-be-gone from
sidewalks, parking lots, park benches, school desks.
Daimer flaunts the success of the Gum Guy and
his gum removal business to convey to prospective
customers the killing that comes with a Gum-Exterminator.
But, while a gum-busting industry emerges,
are humans busting the chewing gum habit?
The U.K. takes gum pollution seriously,
imposing large fines on those caught in the act. The
Chewing Gum Action Group (CGAG) was established
in 2003 with the goal of developing long-term
solutions to irresponsible chewing gum disposal in
Great Britain. Founded on the belief that the most
sustainable solution to gum pollution is behavior
change, the CGAG has developed a campaign that
includes initiatives such as public education and
measures to ensure the greater visibility of penalties
for littering. The CGAG provides resources for local
authorities to implement campaigns that tackle the
problem of gum litter at the source.
A 2008 CGAG campaign poster depicts an
arm and corresponding hand dropping a wad of gum
into empty space. This act is labeled SIN. Below, the
same arm and hand drop a wad of gum into the garage
in an act labeled BIN. The CGAG understands that
humans do not like being told what to do. For this
reason, the campaign ads aim to convey a sense of
gratitude to readers. Bin your Gum, reminds the
CGAG. Avoid a fine of up to £80. Thanks.
Ireland’s Gum Litter Taskforce (GLT) uses
similar tactics. The GLT targets a group it has identified
and dubbed Excuses, Excuses. These are the people
who know it is wrong to drop gum: they do it discreetly
and feel guilty afterwards. The centerpiece of the
GLT campaign is a series of posters featuring the
iconic bin man, a warning about the possibility of a
litter fine, and, of course, Thanks.
Indeed, mere gratitude is no Gum-Exterminator-
vapor-steam-chewing-gum-removal-machine.
Yet both the Chewing Gum Action Group and
the Gum Litter Taskforce claim real results. After
CGAG’s 2008 Sin Bin campaign, seventy-three percent
of gum droppers said that they would likely stop
dropping gum. Eighty-one percent said that the ad
made them aware of the fine. In some areas, gum
litter fell by as much as sixty-two percent.
Yet gum is non-biodegradable; decades of
gum will not disappear with gratitude. Throughout
recent history, London has launched a number of
swat teams armed with high-pressure water nozzles,
dry ice, scrapers and lasers. It has been estimated
that 300,000 wads of gum are still stuck to the pavement
of London’s Oxford Street. Cleaning up Oxford
Street—even with the most efficient gum-busting
technology—would cost upwards of £30,000. Fortunately,
a local artist has a different solution.
Ben Wilson treats each piece of chewing
gum stuck to the pavement like a tiny canvas. After
years of experimentation, in 2004, Wilson took on
London’s streets—on hands and knees—to paint
chewed gum full time. More than five years later,
over 10,000 pieces of chewing gum litter make a trail
of flowers, suns, faces, elephants, you name it.
Gum chewing, like any habit, dies hard. Yet
the gum base means that the residue of this habit dies
harder. Once the mouth has absorbed sugars and
flavors, it is the gum base that remains to chew and
chew and chew. At the base of a stick of Wrigley’s 5 is
synthetic latex. Bubblegum Alley and Gum Wall are
testament that this man-made rubber lasts long after
the sensation of a warm and cool winter.
Thomas Adams and William Wrigley, Jr.
may not have known the capacity of their products
to alter the landscape. Over a century later, it is this
phenomenon that fuels the gum removal industry
and gum litter campaigns. Gum is pollution. Yet,
for Ben Wilson, discarded wads are not superfluous.
Instead, he understands gum litter as one of many
human trails. Conventional efforts to erase this trail
reveal the human tendency to clean up the old by
producing anew. Wilson practices sidewalk renewal
not with dollars or apparatus, but, rather, with color.
Dots graying to black are regenerated; crouch, paint,
repeat.