I’ve recently joined neighbourly.co.nz, a girl from school was promoting the website at the Home Show and said it’s about getting back to a time when you could ask your neighbour for mint or a lemon, albeit via the internet. You never know when you might need some cacao powder, so I thought I’d give it a nudge. The first couple of posts I saw were about collecting household items for a group of refugees, and about succulents for sale (right up my alley), and then there was a lady, let’s call her Judy – because that’s her name. Judy wanted to know if anyone else was having their rubbish collected too early.
According to Judy, her rubbish is being collected at 7:30 am, and the Council is only allowed to collect after 8am. As a result, Judy’s rubbish is being left out “festering” in the sun. Judy can’t put her rubbish out at night because the feral cats get into it and make a mess.
My CV says I’m solutions focussed, so I suggested to Judy that she could try washing her meat trays with hot, soapy water and freezing her meat scraps so that her rubbish doesn’t attract hungry felines (I resisted the urge to suggest that she could feed the felines a bit of Whiskas because not everyone is that way inclined). Then Bryan jumped on board and said that he sprays his rubbish bags with CRC and has never had an issue with cats, dogs, racoons or armadillos.
Judy replied that she didn’t want to go to any of that trouble she just wanted the rubbish collectors to collect her rubbish after 8am. Judy urged anyone else experiencing this annoyance to write to the council about it.
Oh Jude, can I call you Jude? Is that OK? Jude, I do empathise with you, this one time when I was too lazy to wash the meat trays and freeze the meat scraps, I left the rubbish by the back door and some feral cats got into it. Well they weren’t feral, and there was only one: Wallace from next door.
But Jude, I don’t have time to write a letter to the council, because I’ve got my own refuse issues. The other week Jude, we had a fair bit of paper and cardboard. I don’t know why or how we ended up with 81 pieces of junk mail and 62 small cardboard boxes, but I had put them all in a large cardboard box, and put the box in the wheelbarrow beside the rubbish sack.
On rubbish day Jude, I was in the garage – faffing. And something was off, something just didn’t feel right. I noticed the box and it was empty. Where for art thou 81 circulars and 62 small boxes? I went kerbside Jude and noticed an extra rubbish sack. This is where I need to set the scene Jude, and confess that there are times (a lot of times) when I wear my long hooded sweat as a robe. So I was standing on the side of the road in my robe (long hooded sweat), going through our rubbish. I don’t know how it happened, but the recyclable paper and card had made its way out of the recyclable box and into a general waste sack. What the heck?
So, Jude, I had to remedy that sitch stat. While I was rifling through our rubbish on the side of the road, a gentleman pulled up and enquired about the house. I was roadside wearing nothing but a hooded sweat Jude, I was not in the mood to chat to Mr Singh about the size of the bedrooms and the model of the air conditioner and I momentarily considered pretending that I didn’t speak English, but it was early Jude (about 9:15am) and I didn’t yet have my wits about me.
I encounter issues daily Jude, big issues. Every day I wake up and I have to decide whether I will put on my active wear and be active, or put on my active wear and do an activity. Tricky huh? Sounds like one of those questions where you would choose “D) All of the above”, but you see Jude, one can be active in ones active wear (a walk, a light jog, some hill sprints) or one can simply do activities in ones active wear (go to the supermarket, pop to the post office, eat breakfast).
It doesn’t end there though Jude, I have to weigh up whether or not I should make passive aggressive comments on any of the four (at last count) “creatives” who started following Hazel’s House on Instagram and within a week starting making veeeeeery similar products to what I have been making. You see Jude, I’m an Italian Viking so I don’t really do passive aggression, just aggressive aggression, but either way, I don’t want my passiveness or my agressiveness to be interpreted as cyber bullying, so I just give them a double tap and hope that they know that I know that they know where they got the idea from in the first place…
I have another issue Jude, I spend a considerable part of my day trying to figure out a way into the exclusive #mumtrepreneur club without actually have to conceive, carry and birth any offspring. I’m just not sure babies are for me, there is no guarantee that they will sleep through Jeremy Kyle – and this is essential. So I feel left out because I’m not a #mumwhohustles I’m just a #unemployedaccountant.
I almost did write a letter to the council the other day Jude. I went into the city for lunch with a friend from law school (I like to drop that in there to imply that I am a highly qualified academic and not a concrete mixing, dole bludging bum), and I noted that the time limit on my parking space was 120 minutes. I like to play by the rules Jude, so I made a mental note that I needed to be back at my vehicle by 2:31pm. I got back to the vehicle at 2:17pm – heeeeeaps of time. As I was driving home I noticed an infringement notice flapping in the breeze.
This simply would not do Jude, someone had made a mistake and I was going to be writing to the CEO and advising him of the corrupt parking officer in the ranks – I had definitely not stayed longer than 120 minutes.
I got home Jude and Wallace was laying on the driveway, acting like he owns the place, I asked Wallace to please stop flicking the bark onto the path when he shits in the garden, because Boyf has been looking at me like perhaps I am responsible for the mess. I dramatically ripped the ticket from under the wiper and flounced inside. Yes Jude, I flounced.
And then Jude, I read the notice. I had been fined for failing to display a pay and display ticket. Well fuck me Jude, it’d been so long since I’d left the house that I’d completely forgotten that you have to pay for the privilege of parking in the city. Nobody can figure out why people don’t go into the city anymore…
So Jude, I’ve got problems of my own, and there’s no end in sight. You see, just last week I put all of my eggs in one basket and then counted my chickens before they’d hatched, and I went to the mall (where the parking is free) and did the Christmas shopping because I was going to be back at work this week, and shit I should buy two pairs of jeans to celebrate my impending pay day.
Well Jude, now I’m up shit creek without a paddle and a lot of concrete pots. I’ll tell you what though Jude, it’s rubbish day on Friday and Boyf is away, which means I’m on rubbish duty, and if those bastards turn up so much as a minute before 8am, there’ll be hell to pay!