LIFE HACKS FOR BUSY URBAN SOPHISTICATES #2

Or

 

HOW NOT TO BE A COMPLETE FUCKING IDIOT

 

 

Simple observation of those around us, both in our own streets, and in the greater urban environment, tells us that people are total and utter numbats who just don’t know how to behave anymore.

 

As a result of the deadly triangulation of television, utterly unearned self-regard, and a rigorous policy of never thinking about anything that isn’t football, clothing or taxes, they largely think they are all the stars of their own invisible reality TV shows, and that they reek of charm and entitlement when they’re only right up to the ‘reek’ part.

 

In effect, they might as well all have heads full of cream of mushroom soup because if there is any brain matter floating about the skull region, it sees about as much action as the salad tongs in a barbecue joint.

 

We see the appalling results of this near our homes, in the streets, at shopping centres, in the city, on the roads and on public transport. All of these areas are jam-packed with folks who plainly resent the time spent at work when have to use their brains to do at least a minimal amount of thinking, and thus they obviously turn those brains off the minute they leave the employment facility *. The result is shitful behaviour, whether accidentally, on purpose, or on account of the perpetrators being hopeless dumb-arses.

 

The aim of this series is not to make idiots smarter, which is impossible*, but to help both them and people who just act like idiots not be such a deadly burden to the dwindling number of citizens who actually try not to be complete fuckwads to other people most of the time. I call the increasingly miniscule latter group, “the decentry”. Or as the technical term used to be, many decades ago now, “normal people”.

 

The technique used* will always be to employ language as simple as possible, to give specific examples, and to never assume specific levels of intelligence, or any intelligence, on behalf of the fuckwads.

 

* = proven by laboratory research

 

 

 

 

TODAY’S TOPIC:

 

HOW TO PUT OUT YOUR RUBBISH YET NOT BE A COMPLETE FUCKING IDIOT, IN A SHARED GARBAGE ENVIRONMENT

 

 

When living in flats, one shares a number of plastic wheelie bins with one’s fellow residents, at least some of whom are rock apes.

 

The bins will be of at least two types, perhaps three – the majority which are for regular rubbish, separate ones for recyclable rubbish, and depending on how the council in question swings, possibly an additional one for “green waste”, such as leaves, twigs, branches etc.

 

The bins which are not for regular rubbish are distinguished by differing coloured lids. So unless you were profoundly colour blind or a complete and unmitigated fuckwad, you could not possibly fail to distinguish between those bins and the majority, which are earmarked for regular rubbish.

 

Bearing all this information in mind, the following handy hints are offered. It is important, if probably functionally unbelievable, to note that all of them are based on scenarios the author has experienced in real life while trying to ensure the communal bin area doesn’t devolve to a rat and fly infested swamp on a weekly basis.

 

 

* Items that are not recyclable include, but are not limited to:

random pieces of metal; collapsed lawn furniture; shattered items of household crockery and glassware; banana peels; egg shells; eggs; slimy pizza boxes; slimy pizza boxes containing unconsumed pizza, whether entire festering pieces or crusts alone, from the dentally challenged; any food scraps including banana peels; I really can’t stress enough how much banana peels and egg shells are not recyclable – there are people out there who apparently have an unshakeable fixation on the idea that they ARE recyclable and can be made into paper or building fittings, or electrical wiring, but on the basis of latest scientific information to hand this is not true.

 

 

 

* Apart from items specifically mentioned here, another good idea is to not dump one or, not infrequently, more, supermarket bag/s of general refuse in the recycling bin because you are just a completely irredeemable fuckwit.

 

 

 

* Examples of things in bottles, cans and cartons that are not recyclable include about a quarter-litre of well-aged milk and a solid mouthful or so of the vile bourbon/cola pre-mix which may be your characteristic evening beverage/personal stamp of sophistication. At enormous risk of having to almost think for half a second, such containers should be emptied and given the most perfunctory of rinses prior to lobbing them in the recycling.

 

 

 

* Although some might think this obvious, it bears mentioning that cans which contained pet food are less susceptible to effective recycling when the interiors are still coated with a substantial slathering of the contents as originally packed and sold.

 

 

* Further items that are not recyclable include, but are not limited to:

plastic bags from the supermarket; other plastic bags; pretty much any plastic bags; food scraps and residue even when contained in cardboard packaging – note: this includes banana peels; shattered bike helmets; wood, pieces of wood, great planks of wood, snapped broom-handles of wood, or wood; rope or ribbon handles of snuppity-uppity-market shopping bags, even including the few non pink or mauve ones; packing tape on boxes; coated cardboard, inc waxed; coated or plasticised paper, generally including all of those snuppity-uppity-market shopping bags; that foam packing crap, either the little shitty stuff used to pack parcels or the bigger, moulded variety used to immobilise televisions, appliances etc within cardboard packaging; little plastic packets found within the latter kinds of packaging including random useless/unfathomable bits of plastic and metal; banana peels and egg-shells; pieces of old toilets; discarded disposable coffee and soft-drink cups; anything (or anyone) you picked up while drunk at McDonalds or equivalent fast food establishment including even the most generously well-greased outer bags; masonite; the plastic bags enclosing magazines you are sent that you don’t really want; discarded trousers and other items of clothing; just about anything you found in your garden during a bit of a clean-up.

 

 

 

* One area, regarding a lot of the above, where people apparently get confused, is that a recycling bin is not a composting bin. What is truly depressing is that these people get to vote and use public highways. Well, in either case, you see the results.

 

 

 

* When the wheelie bin which is the most accessible one – the nearest one to the pedestrian approach to the bin area – is full, what one should probably avoid doing is continuing to pile rubbish in there until the lid is pointed at aviation traffic overhead and the contents are overflowing everywhere in a colourful and joyous tangle of open-air refuse.

 

This is particularly the case when there are six or seven other general refuse bins within a couple of metres, most of them empty or near to it. You would think that this couldn’t happen that often and you’d be wrong. The one known way of avoiding the practice is for a resident exhibiting a human degree of intellect and reasoning to physically rotate the bins, so that the full one is placed out of reach – i.e. anywhere except in the single most accessible position – and is replaced by an empty one.

 

 

 

* The same advice holds true for cases in which an address has more than one recycling bin – i.e. the one in the most accessible position would ideally not be loaded up to overflowing until the lid can’t be closed, and then loaded up some more, when an empty recycling bin is immediately adjacent to it. Of course, one might as well wish for a tree that grows ten dollar bills, or a security gate or door on the property to occasionally be left closed, just by way of novelty.

 

 

* Contrary to increasingly popular opinion, the ideal place for discarding or recycling unwanted junk mail found in one’s letterbox is not strewn casually on the ground in the area immediately adjacent to the communal letterboxes. Again, some may be incredulous regarding the idea that this occurs at all. Personally, I have never lived in a block of flats where the “bombs away” method of discarding junk mail was not utilised. Not counting me, the current statistic on residents where I live employing this precise method is running at 20%, and those are the confirmed, regular figures.

 

 

 

* Speaking of circus sideshow attractions, smokers who routinely hurl discarded cigarette butts on the ground when there are bins 1-3 metres away – this is at their own place of residence, bear in mind – would have some pretty fancy ’splaining to do to evade due charges of being the most lazy, idiotic turds floating in the general gene pool of human life. The obvious next step in numbat logic seems to be, why bother going inside to take a shit? Drop your dacks, let fly, and leave us all another present.

 

 

 

* Not entirely dissimilarly, just chucking your rubbish on the ground or in the bushes in the place you actually live is a fairly clear sign that at least a few individuals slipped through the general net of the education system. At least, at very least, when you’ve sobered up or got over your disabling bout of temporary imbecility, you could come out the next day and take your stuff to the bin area which is within clear sight and considerably under any Olympic sprinting distance away. Experience tells us this is about as likely to happen as mainstream media pundits even briefly researching any topic on which they are about to blather crashing, thick-eared generalisations.

 

 

 

* When depositing boxes in bins, particularly recycling ones which are generally far more limited in number, the ideal method is not to dump the box whole in the bin, then walk away whistling, or even humming.

 

The defect of this surprisingly common method is that after about 3 boxes and a smattering of other recyclables – and, of course, banana peels and egg shells – the recycling bin is overfilled and nobody else can get their recycled rubbish in for the rest of the week, unless some poor susceptible idiot comes out and breaks the boxes down and clears some of the discarded pizza, egg shells and banana peels out of the way.

 

The problem here is a matter of volume. A whole, uncollapsed box will occupy a considerable space. This is true of large boxes used for freighting or mailing in particular, but also shoeboxes, or even smaller boxes used for food packaging. Any boxes really.

 

To reduce the volume of boxes is, fortunately, a simple matter. By simple, inexpert application of effort requiring nothing in the way of complex calculation and very little in the way of time, boxes can be torn or cut into pieces of a size which fit flat to the base of the bin. In such form they take up relatively tiny amounts of volume, and as a bonus are readily compressible when more rubbish is piled on top.

 

Incidentally, you can see the state this kind of regularly-encountered idiocy reduces the human mind to from the overly detailed reasoning in the description just above. It’s like the long-term effect of wind or water erosion on soil. Eventually the idiocy of idiots all but inevitably gets you thinking like another idiot.

 

 

 

* If by some remarkable quirk of chance, the resident has managed to negotiate his or her way to the bin area while carrying rubbish intended for disposal therein, ideally the refuse should go in the bins. The more that goes in the bins, the closer it is to the target or goal of the operation being achieved. As daunting as it sounds, 100% of the rubbish in the bins is the real aim of the exercise, even as opposed to most of it in the bin, but a colourful smattering of it on the ground around the bin area.

 

For kicks, or even more of a fun challenge, residents could even tie off the bags of rubbish, so that the contents aren’t smeared around everywhere as a larval delight for insect populations or a tempting treat for our vermin friends. Let alone the contents cascading all over some poor schmoe who’s just trying to redistribute bin contents to try and out-think the howler monkeys that pile all the week’s garbage into one or two bins.

 

 

 

* Focus. Focus is the key. If you have, against all possible odds, managed to manipulate both yourself and your weekly household rubbish all the way to the bin area, try not to get distracted – possibly by the thought that you hadn’t contributed your worldly wisdom to the social media in upwards of three minutes – or thrown by the Herculean task that lies ahead, and thus hurl your refuse on the ground NEAR the bins and run away.

Remember I said that everything in here was drawn from actual personal experience of the remarkable cavorting behaviour of fellow residents. That includes this item. And if you thought that this maybe only happened just the once, the nicest thing I can say is that this shows a remarkable optimism about the capabilities of your fellow human beings that I greatly admire, but on the weight of evidence, I emphatically cannot share.

——————————————————————–

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s