I’m one of those people who really likes to get their monies worth. But not just in things I’ve paid for, I apply it to all things.
I once went to see a film at the Odeon in Leeds, before it became a Primark, called Microcosm. And even though I wanted to leave I sat through every soul-destroying minute of it. It was a natural history film about insects, basically. Normally I’d love that sort of shit – this was boring as fuck. I seem to remember there being no commentary. Just beetles being beetles.
But by God, I paid for that shite, so I stuck with it.
I’m like that when it comes to bin day. We recycle a lot, so when it comes to our general waste bin it always seems woefully empty, even after two weeks of throwing stuff away.
The bin goes out on a Monday and, generally, is emptied in the afternoon. So I see the morning as a challenge. A challenge that says “do as much stuff as you can that generates rubbish that can be thrown away before the bin is emptied” basically.
Today I lost.
And I was absolutely gutted.
I went into the kitchen to knock back my bread, gathering up the bits and bobs that could be binned.
A yeast packet here, a wrapper there. A bit of cling film. Little stuff.
I added it to a bag I’d had on the go since the morning, tied it up and headed to the front door.
They’d only bloody come and done the entire street while I was knocking back my loaf and oiling a tin (neither of which are euphamisms).
I’d not even heard the characteristic bang of a wheelie bin against the truck.
At first I thought maybe someone had just moved our bin and they hadn’t been, but other bins once overflowing overflowed no more.
I hate to think of a bin bag sitting in a bin later on the same day as the bins are collect. It feels wrong. Like poor choices were made in that house.
This is why I don’t gamble.
And why there’s already stuff in our bin.