Where I come from and how I come to be, I know not. As long as I can remember, I have been standing among my other dustbin friends in front of a block of student residences. We are all identical; large, green, and rectangular, with two wheels, a handle, and a lid on a hinge. Come wind, rain or sunshine, we do not flinch but stand firm and steady, always ready to carry out our duties.
Every day, students come to us to dispose of their daily refuse. Sometimes they put their large black bin bags in me, and sometimes in my friends, but on the whole we are all equally utilised. There have also been times when they have pushed some of us down the grassy slope just for fun. I am fortunate enough to have escaped this ill-treatment so far, but I have often watched in horror as my friends fell flat on their faces with their lids hanging open and their contents spilling out in a very undignified manner. It always saddens me to see any of my colleagues – good, respectable dustbins – treated like this.
Every other day, a dustbin truck trundles up the road to collect the rubbish from us. I always look forward to this occasion as I get to hang upside down from the bar of the rubbish truck and watch all the rubbish inside me tumble out. It is such fun! I am lucky not to be afraid of heights like some of my friends. They do not have much fun. In fact, on a bad day, they might turn positively green and feel ill for hours afterward.
We also have another frequent visitor. It is an old man. He comes to us to see if we have any food in us that he may share. Once, he had just taken out a quarter of a loaf of bread, half a bottle of milk and a tub with the last dredges of sandwich filler, when in a fit of mischief, my neighbour tried to shut his lid on the old man’s hand. I was very upset and scolded him straight away. Fortunately the old man was not hurt and he limped away with his findings. My heart went out to him as I watched him go; I suspected the bread was mouldy, the milk sour, and the sandwich filler gone off.
Not long after this occasion, two black-haired girls left a clear plastic bag with some food in it on top of me and scuttled off. The old man was nearby but he did not take the bag. I suppose he had pride too, and did not like to be pitied. Or perhaps he sensed the girls peeking from the window and felt embarrassed, although I knew they meant well.
And so each day passes. Seasons come and go; flowers bloom and wither. The students are different each year, yet we do not change. I am content with my job and content where I am; until the day I am retired, it is there that I shall stand.
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