How I Learned to Fear the Bin
In today’s febrile media we often hear the word ‘dictator’ thrown around with little understanding of its meaning. It would be nice if this could stop, if for no other reason than it reduces the impact when a real dictator comes to power.
Never has this been more apparent than when our local council mandated that all rubbish needs to be divided into separate recycling bins. It is lucky we have big offices because we are now sitting on five huge containers each being filled according to a strict taxonomy system that only one person in the office understands. Step forward the true dictator in the office, Elena Ruggero.
It has come to the point where I find that it is safer to put my used kefir cartons on the counter and wait to be ticked off for leaving them there, than putting them in the wrong box and being thoroughly ground to pulp for doing so.
Every year at my girls’ old prep school the year eights would try to keep some animals alive in their dormitory. Hermione’s year tried to rear pheasant chicks from eggs, but this was small beer compared to matron’s reaction when she found Eleanor’s bath tub full of half-hatched frog spawn. Children and adults all know that rebukes come with a sliding scale rating, and matron’s would certainly register a high seven on the Richter scale. However, to experience the full spectrum of rebuke, try putting plastic in the paper bin at work. There is a dictator in the office and it is definitely not me.
Share this:
