Personal

A grave situation has occurred…

I don’t want to panic anyone, but someone has stolen my wheelie bin.

I know.

Scandal, right?

You see, I’m a bit particular about my bin. Because it’s damn well MY bin. This house was brand new when we moved in, and I applied for that bin and I’ve raised it ever since it was… well, you get the point.

Fascinating I know, but we have two bins. A black one for landfill which will no doubt cause the destruction of the entire planet, and a blue one for recycling. My favourite is obviously the blue one, it’s our only salvation and it smells better.

Both bins have been provided with a big sticker, a number denoting our house. A brand, if you will. We’ll say it’s a four, it isn’t a four, it’s a different number altogether… but you know, stalkers.

So, our bins are emptied every Wednesday morning. Every Tuesday night all the local householders put their bins in a convenient location quite close to my house for the bin men to do their thing. Throughout Wednesday, we all claim our respective bins and put them back in our garden. Except the monsters at number forty-eight who often leave their bin for three days. And the hot mess at number twelve who frequently puts the wrong bin out and then looks confused as to why her black bin hasn’t been emptied when everyone else’s BLUE bin has. Must be colourblind. And have no sense of smell. Or a calendar.

I digress.

Yesterday, I returned home from getting some groceries… I say groceries it was actually solely the ingredients for an apple pie because I’ve yet to learn how to adult. As a casual nod in the direction of adulthood, I thought I’d take my bin home. But could I see a blue bin with a spotty number four (not four) on it? No. I walked up and down looking for it. Nothing. There were eight bins, some had numbers and some did not. Honestly, heathens around here. Heathens. No bin number on your bin? I… I despair.

Anyway, my bin had gone. GONE.

So I went snooping. Two, six, and eight all had their bins out the front still. They all work and they know how to number a bin, I’m not worried about them. Ten had returned his bin, but his bin has a zero on it, the one fell off during a particularly heavy bout of rain last summer. Twelve, well, her bin had never moved so she’s in the clear. Fourteen had no bin in their garden but there was one outside in the path. No number four (not four) though.

I tried the other road, some of them had claimed their bins and some had not. Of the ones I could see, none had a four (not four) on it. Which means someone has picked off my four (not four). Because my sticker was good quality and didn’t fall off during the summer rains. It’s hardy, my four (not four).

So someone has stolen my bin and picked my four (not four) off. If that isn’t a cold and calculated move, then I don’t know what is. I intend to watch these potential thieves like a hawk now, dear reader. I will update you when I know more.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *