What to do when every bin is collected except yours

It’s every bin day fanatic’s worst nightmare – the festering sacks are still there

Last night your calendar alert reminded you about today’s bin day. Not that you need the alert – you never miss bin day. You may not always remember the date of your wedding anniversary, or your mother’s birthday, or your own birthday come to that, but you always know the date of bin day. 
Well, there was that one time a few years ago, when you overslept and very nearly missed it. You’re by no means a fast and dynamic person, but the sound of a bin lorry’s air brakes got you from fast asleep and horizontal in bed to outside in your dressing gown and dragging your wheelie bin into the street in twelve seconds flat. In fact, if paramedics are ever one day struggling to revive you on some cold pavement and the defibrillator isn’t managing to jolt you awake, hopefully someone will have the good sense to try playing a recording of an approaching bin lorry into your ears. And if that doesn’t wake you, they can officially declare you dead. 
But anyway, today is definitely bin day and you put your wheelie bin out on the pavement last night. You were the first in the street to do so, as usual, and all the neighbours followed suit. You are the local Pied Piper of wheelie bins. You are the binfluencer of your cul-de-sac. You faced the handles of the bin out towards the road, as the council advises on the website, so the bin men can easily and quickly grab it. No one else seems to bother and their bins still get taken, which doesn’t seem fair, but such is life. You also follow the rule of not putting it out before 6pm the night before, leaving it until at least 6.02pm instead. 
So the bin was on the street, in good time, in a good position, this morning when you left for the day, meaning it should have been collected around 9am when the bin men usually come. But for some reason, here you are back home on the day of collection at three in the afternoon and… the bin is still in exactly the same position, which is suspicious and worrying. Everyone else’s bins are scattered up and down the road and have clearly been manipulated. Your neighbour’s bin, for instance, sits about 50 yards from where he left it this morning (“what kind of person leaves it till the morning of bin day rather than the night before?” you often lie in bed and wonder), so it has definitely been emptied. But your bin… EXACTLY where you left it. You start to feel sick.  
Now, usually when you peek inside your wheelie bin, just before you drag it back in, you’re confirming to yourself that it has indeed been emptied. It’s the same little ritual every time: walk to bin, little peek, see it’s empty, huge satisfaction, drag it home. But on this dreadful day, you’re peeking inside with pure terror; like opening the door of a festival portaloo, you know it’s going to be bad. You lift the lid and, worst fears confirmed, your festering sacks are still in there. Well, maybe they haven’t been down the street yet at all; maybe you’re imagining the displacement of everyone else’s bins. You walk to your neighbour’s bin and, hoping he’s not able to see you on his doorbell, take a sneaky look inside. Empty. Damn. They have been, and they’ve missed you. 
“WHY ME?” you want to scream, like you’ve just been told by a doctor that you’ve got a big sinister-looking dark patch on a scan. “But this shouldn’t happen to me! I followed all the rules! I left the bin men a Christmas card! I keep my bin clean! I never try to cheat by hiding some contraband at the bottom that should really go to the tip! I FACE THE HANDLE THE RIGHT WAY!”
There’s a whole fortnight until the next bin day. What on earth are you going to do? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?! Right, pull yourself together. This is no time to go to pieces. It could be worse: it could be the first collection after Christmas when the bins are overflowing, a collection your neighbour once missed (which you’re ashamed to remember gave you a small thrill). Think. Ah-ha! You could store rubbish in your garage for a fortnight! Hang on… no, what if it attracts rats? They’d eat through all your cardboard boxes of tat that you bring with you every time you move house. What else? What if you just didn’t eat for the next 14 days? No packaging equals no waste. No, that’s ridiculous. Hang on, yes… of course, that’s the answer: a stern email to the council.       
You sit down at the computer (a task like this requires a computer, it’s too important to use a phone) and start typing to [email protected] in your most officious tone. You make sure to say “Dear Sir/Madam” and, of course, you make absolutely certain to state the exact amount you pay in council tax each month. 
You also state that it’s gone up since last year, and the year before that. You demand that your bin is scheduled for re-collection in no more than two days, otherwise you’ll be sure to escalate to your local MP, whoever that may be. After an hour of re-reading what you’ve written and feeling pleased with yourself, you press send. You receive a reply: “Thank you for your email. We are very busy, but we will aim to reply within five days”.
Seven days later, an email comes through from the Head of Waste Minimisation Services at [email protected]. They request that you leave your bin out as it has been re-scheduled to be collected one week from now. “But one week from now will just be when it’s meant to be collected anyway?” you type, bashing each key with indignation. “By that point I’ll have a month’s worth of rubbish, which is terrible, especially since you dramatically decreased the size of the bins! Can you not come any sooner? As per my last email, I pay a small fortune every month in council tax, and it certainly doesn’t go towards fixing potholes!” 
Exhausted, you press send. A reply comes through instantly. Good – you must have scared them into action. “Thank you for your email. We are very busy, but we will aim to reply within five…” 
Rob Temple is on Twitter @SoVeryBritish
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