Cone theft from George Street is costing the DCC $40k a year, and students are copping the blame. Can’t be surprised, though: Dunedin students love cones of many varieties.
We broke this story last week, which was picked up by Stuff, Spinoff, Seven Sharp and the Breakfast Show. Not that any of you noticed - 8am is far too early to be awake. That’s okay, though. Students have shouldered a lot of the blame for this, even though the $40k isn’t exclusively due to cone theft, and even though students aren’t always the culprit. But it does look bad, especially considering that George Street is the main road to town, and placing thousands of road cones along the main drunken thoroughfare is just asking for disaster.
But this made me think about the nationwide problem of cone theft, because it’s something that really doesn’t happen anywhere else in the world. Like couch burnings or the Undie Five-Hundie, it’s a bit of local chaos that we forget is incredibly abnormal. To find evidence of it elsewhere, I first looked home to the States, but we have neither the amount of road cones nor the cultural love/hate relationship needed to steal them. Then I looked to the UK, where I found that despite having 60 million more people than us, they only have 300 thousand more road cones. A charming student forum discussion online showed uni students saying things like “I’ve always wanted to” and “it's so.. dangerous, makes me feel naughty”, as if it were special.
A cursory Google reveals that the only “road cone theft” news comes from here in New Zealand. In 2021, for example, Fulton Hogan sent a very strongly-worded letter to students in Christchurch reminding them that the penalty for this act was a fine of up to $2k and up to three months’ imprisonment, which seems like a bit of an overreaction. It also didn’t work - students kept stealing cones, because of course they did. So, in a way, the DCC’s much more light-hearted approach might be exactly what’s needed to curb the problem.
Obviously the $40k price tag is ridiculous, and could’ve been better spent on things like the hospital. But add up all the road cone theft in this country over the years, and you quickly start to hit seven digits. It makes you wonder: where is all this money going?
“Follow the money,” they say. In this case, the path is not clearly marked by road cones; it’s murky, and intriguing. Road cones are manufactured overseas and imported, and there’s a business in Christchurch that makes and recycles them, too. But their turnover rate on the street is so high, and their numbers so vast, that the total annual expenditure on road cones has proven nearly impossible to pin down. Who’s profiting from the prolific pinching of road cones? Could local (or even national) government be in cahoots with cone manufacturers, profiting off of the very activity they decry? “Noo, stop stealing our road cones,” they cry, while placing thousands of them across the city. “We’ll have to use taxpayer money to buy more!”
Welcome to the rabbit hole of Big Cone. Once you start thinking about it, your world will never be the same. And while the charming and well-meaning project managers at the DCC are trying their best to level with students about the problem, the real problem stems from high above their heads: in presumably orange-coloured board rooms where executives profit off the need to constantly replace a product that they have designed to be both non-recyclable and fundamentally irresistible to the masses. It’s the perfect crime, and we’re the perfect market.