The Dustbin of my Dreams

After so long waiting, I had finally arrived.

I had coveted the dustbin for years: stainless steel; easy-clean; antibacterial. Best of all was the footpedal which meant you would never have to touch it, except to take the bag out. This would be contained within an odour-eliminating, sleekly streamlined plastic capsule. The insanitary sanitised once and for all, at last.

I thought back with horror to the dustbins of my youth. In early childhood, it had been a pale-blue plastic swing bin with a lid that must have once been white. As I remember it, there were always bits of crusted food stuck onto it, and when you opened it flies would escape in summer. No-one ever cleaned it, so I gave it a wide berth. I left my rubbish in piles around the house, which didn’t help the situation, but I would’ve done just about anything to avoid going near that bin.

What followed in my teen years was still worse: a round yellow plastic container, moulded to look like an ash bin, whose lid had to be removed by hand. Needless to say, at this point I took to managing my own waste, keeping a small pedal bin in my room for personal use.

Ever since moving out of the family home, I’ve been fastidious. I always keep my own bin squeaky clean. But the funds to buy that sleek stainless-steel model have always eluded me. Up to now.

It’s not that I couldn’t afford it outright; I mean, it wasn’t going to break the bank. But my budget was tight, and I could never justify the unnecessary expenditure. It was an adornment, an ideal; and I could only dream.

Many a time had I eyed jealously my neighbours’ Brabantia when they’d invited me to dinner. I’ll admit that I’d been suffering ‘bin envy.’

Sadly, I would walk the aisles of the local Department Store, admiring the gleaming mirror-sheen of the immaculate pedal bins in the home section, reflecting all my hopes and aspirations.

Finally, today, my time had come. Bonus in hand, I marched into the store triumphantly and bought one for myself, as I’d so often dreamed I would, once I’d attained the required social status.

Proudly, I placed it in the boot of my car and brought it home.

Once home, I unboxed it carefully and gave it pride of place by the kitchen door, so the neighbours would see next time they came for coffee, and realise I was one of them, at last.

And now it’s standing there, empty: I can hardly bring myself to put a bag in it, let alone fill it with rubbish.

Perplexingly, unexpectedly, that’s just how I feel: empty. And somewhere from the depths of my soul comes the resounding admonition:

What a waste of life, dreaming always of better ways to manage waste:

A waste of time, which could have been spent learning to dream bigger.

(c) 2020 All Rights Reserved.

3 thoughts on “The Dustbin of my Dreams

Add yours

  1. Thought that was really good, it had me laughing initially, or at least smiling. Laughing at human nature! Of course the punch at the end removes the laughter. I liked the simplicity of using an everyday object to show how we waste the time we have now. X

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Powered by

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: