No. 49 Vol. 1Mon 29 November 2021Price: 0/0d

The Belligerent Bin

pointing finger Yarns >> Mon 29 November 2021 by Thran

You should always view a property before moving, but no-one says to check the bins.

A moving in present

Not that long ago, I'd moved into a new rental property. I was glad to be presented a fine blue wheelie bin alongside the house. In my country, blue wheelie bins are intended for dry recyclables. This is clearly understood by everyone and for those who don't understand, the bins are also labelled.

However, when I peeked inside I noticed something amiss. The blue bin was chock full of things that do not belong there, or anywhere for that matter. Animal bones (dog? Cat?), bird dung, dung from something larger, burnt plastic ashes, and heaps and heaps of indiscernible black clumps. To ice this cake from Satan's bakery, the entire bin was waterlogged in a liquid that had long ceased to be water. This liquid filled over 3/4 of the bin, and it's a big bin.

A cry for help, unheeded

What was I to do? I sought the advice of an expert; I visited the skip and asked the binman, if I left out this beleaguered blue bin on the black bin day with a note explaining the contents, would the binmen be willing to collect? Then I could finally get back to recycling properly. He flat told me no, because the colour of the bin was blue, they wouldn't empty its contents. I thought this an affront to decency: imagine judging a bin by the colour of its skin, and not the content of its rubbish!

Scooping the Gloop

Scoop the Gloop

Behold the degenerate depths

Thus, I had little else to do but spend the afternoon emptying and cleaning it. Quite the operation. I first tipped it over while holding the lid shut. This was to rid it of the liquid. All I saw seep from within was this pernicious black gloop, consuming all life in its path. I took arms with the yard shovel and scooped many's an load of unmentionables into the black bin. Then I rammed it down to be sure any long-perished fiendish beings among the sorry clumps stayed dead. After this I scrubbed the liberated blue bin into an inch of its life with bleach, washing powder, white spirit; A holy purifying concoction to cleanse these satanic suds. Finally, the noble deed was done. I left the regenerated bin out to dry and look forward to a more recycled future.

This bin was a metaphor for my entire time living in this property. It just got worse the longer I spent with it. I am relieved to say I've long since left that house and its accursed bin.

Latest in Yarns

If that wasn't enough, see all in Yarns (14 total). Back to writ top.