Once upon a time in the 21st century (or maybe Tuesday), Earth—whom the elders called Gaia—decided she’d had enough of plastic confetti clogging her oceans and turtles wearing six-pack rings like chokers. So, she summoned the Global Council of Humans for a yearly roast disguised as a celebration: Gaia Day.
Gaia, wearing a gown of seaweed and smoke, opened the event with her booming voice:
“Dear humans, congratulations. You’ve invented a material that survives the apocalypse, but can’t outlast a toddler’s attention span. Bravo!”
Representatives from all nations gathered at the United Nations’ pop-up dome in Ottawa—sponsored by “PlastiCorp: Innovating Eternal Litter Since 1947.” This year’s theme? Money Matters: The Price of Plastic Pandemonium.
Enter the Intergovernmental Negotiating Committee (INC), or as Gaia called them, “the INC-redibly Slow Movers.” Their mission: craft a global plastic treaty before the oceans turned into soup.
Inside, 4,000 delegates discussed whether plastic straws or inflatable flamingos were more villainous. Meanwhile, lobbyists handed out reusable branded tote bags… filled with single-use brochures.
The World Bank delegation, dressed in recycled suits and optimism, unveiled their solution:
“We need $1.64 trillion to defeat plastic. That’s roughly what Jeff Bezos earns every Tuesday.”
Private capital nodded wisely. Then vanished.
The Business Coalition, 200 companies strong, pledged allegiance to reuse policies, though none could define “reuse” beyond “marketing it on our packaging.”
A particularly earnest intern from PROBLUE (dressed as a jellyfish for thematic flair) announced that $50 million had been invested across 60 countries. Gaia blinked.
“Adorable,” she whispered, “Now kindly multiply that by a thousand.”
To spice things up, the World Bank dropped a new product: the Plastic Waste Reduction-Linked Bond. Wall Street yawned, then bought a hundred—anything with the word “bond” sold well at brunch.
The climax arrived when Gaia revealed her proposed solution:
“Every plastic producer must now live in a house made entirely of their own waste output.”
Silence. Then, a lone delegate clapped. Probably from Bhutan.
By nightfall, the treaty still read: “Revised Zero Draft,” which Gaia pointed out was “a fancy way of saying no one agreed on anything.”
As fireworks made of compostable glitter lit the sky, Gaia raised her glass of seafoam and sighed:
“Happy Gaia Day, darlings. Same time next year. Bring fewer buzzwords, more bins.”
And with that, the world danced under biodegradable streamers, dreaming of a planet where the only plastic was in history books.
