Monday, 23 August 2010

My new enemy

Hubby recently made the mistake of telling my mom how much he liked her garbage can. 

And... now we have one.  How thoughtful, Mom, thanks. 

It's the ultimate trash receptacle.  It has a sensor to open the lid.  It takes 4 giant batteries.  It has lights.  Like from the future.  No foot pedal necessary.  Look, Mom, no hands!  And no stupid bag falling off the edge into the can, either. 

However, I know people whose garbage cans don't even have a functioning foot pedal, and they manage quite fine.  Not Hubby.  He insists on this one, and since he is responsible for (i.e. forced to remove) the garbage each week, I don't get a say.

In theory, it's an excellent idea.  But in practice, I hate the effing thing.  It's as stupid as monkey at a grocery store - a good gimic, but likely to end with some unsuspecting sucker losing a chunk of hair in the banana aisle. 

And now, every time I want to throw something out, I have to walk over the can, stand in front of it like a damned fool, and hold my hands over the sensor until the lid pops open.  Sometimes the lid closes too soon and I end up dumping rubbish all over the top.  Sometimes I misjudge how quickly it will open, and dump too soon.  In both cases I curse my husband, and sometimes my mother too.   

The bottom line is that I simply don't like disposing of my trash on a schedule set by my effing garbage can.  I like being in control of my waste.  I hate that this damn space machine is in charge.  

And now this thing has taken over my life.  Five times in the last week I have walked into my kitchen at work to dispose of the remnents of my lunch, only to approach the big plastic bin and stand it front of it with my hands poised over the top, waiting like a friggin idiot for the lid to pop open.  

Awesome.  Friggin AWESOME.  

And how much you wanna bet that when the batteries die, we won't have replacements.  So I'll end up having to pull up the little lid with my finger nail or a butter knife each time I want to dump my garbage.


This whole thing is a bad idea.  I'm officially in protest.  I'm going to sell t-shirts with slogans that say "DAMN THE CAN!" and "I'M IN CHARGE OF MY OWN GARBAGE."  and "MY WASTE. MY RULES."

Prepare for battle, garbage can.  It's you against me.  You may have Hubby on your side, but I play dirty.  One day your life will end.  You may have won the battle, but I will win the war. 

3 comments:

  1. Awesome. It's just after Christmas and I've been off for almost two weeks. And this afternoon I went into the work kitchenette to dispose of some bad grapes, and of course, stood in front of the big plastic garbage bin, poised over the lid, waiting for it to open sesame - like I'm a Queen or something, and everything in my path should open at the wave of my hand. Well, I figure either everything should open on my command, or nothing should open on my command - but not a mixture of both. It's too damn confusing, and my little habitual mind can't handle it.

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  2. Oh man...if I had an automatic trashcan, I would totally stand in front of it and pretend I was a Jedi. No lie.

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