- Kids are running around in the hospitality area;little sods are having more fun than me in my premium seat. #revolutionseries @RevolutionUK 20 hours ago
Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
I am a dustbin man and I have to be careful
05/07/2012Posted by on
‘Yo ho ho, and a container of rotting cabbage’ as the boys say down at the depot. We are a tight-knit group of lads down there – we have to be, otherwise we would all go stark raving mad with Lyme disease. Citrus-based drinks and cakes are popular in this town yet people just throw away the peel without a second thought about who has to take care of it afterwards. The younger, more aggressive ones among us think that these people are taking the pith, but the wiser ones such as myself just see it as a natural hazard of the job. It’s about perspective: there are brave soldiers getting blown to smithereens in Afghanistan, whereas all I have to do is make sure my jacket is zipped up tight.
Being a dustbin man is strangely hypnotic and if you’re not careful it can take over your life. One Saturday afternoon I popped into town with my wife to do some shopping. I spotted a pile of discarded clothes on the floor and before I realised what I was doing, I had hoisted the entire bundle up onto my shoulder ready for disposal. I even yelled out “Hold up there Bazza, got some old rags here,” such was my state of confusion. Even as the store security guard was bundling me to the floor, I was twisting his ear round to start up the crusher machine. Still in a daze, I then banged my fist on his groin as I always do when I want Bazza to open the passenger door for me; the handle don’t work, see, and it can only be opened from the inside.
Sometimes, if I have to take a step backwards, I start making a beeping sound and move very slowly – if I’m daydreaming about being in control of a ten-ton vehicle, I don’t want to be stepping on some little doggie’s toes. I once accidentally stepped back and knocked over a garden gnome a few years ago. I hate garden gnomes so I wasn’t actually that bothered about it, but the owner went bleedin’ mental at me. Shouting and hollerin’ he was. I told him to calm down and get some perspective: there are women out there carrying around rape alarms lest they get harassed by dirty old men.
All he had to was move his shitty garden furniture out the bloody way and all would have been fine in the world.