Uncanny Tales – (086) I Don’t Like Mondays

 

Journal week ending 23rd May 2008

 

In the words of the Boomtown Rats classic song title, I don’t like Mondays.

Now I know I’m not alone in that dislike and I hate Mondays on several levels, and I know I’m probably not alone in that either.

There are some Mondays I like more than others such as any Monday that falls during my holiday leave, providing I’m not at home, and Bank Holiday Mondays for example are on the whole quite painless and in a week which boasts a Bank Holiday Monday I don’t like Tuesdays, but I don’t think there is a song about that.

 

The reason that I dislike Mondays so much, apart from the obvious one’s, is that Mondays are our designated refuse collection day in other words it’s when the bins are emptied.

Now I am well aware that the collection of household waste is an essential part of life, and I certainly wouldn’t want the practise to stop after all I do pay handsomely for the privilege.

 

I should point out that I do have an issue with the manner and means of collections that have been imposed on us.

Which is this, although we do have bins emptied weekly, we do have to suffer fortnightly collection, so general rubbish is collected one week and recycling the next and so on.

If you have the same arrangement in your area, then you know what I mean and if you don’t then you will have firsthand experience soon enough.

 

However, my chief gripe about collection day stems from a need to get from A to B without hindrance.

In other words, being able to get about without having to wait an indeterminate period of time for the dust cart to reach a point whereby the immeasurable queue of cars can continue their short journey.

You may think me petty or prone to exaggeration or both, but this is a reoccurring problem.

It’s bad enough when it happens on a main thoroughfare but at least they only block on side of the road under those circumstances and the traffic can still flow albeit in a restricted form.

But when it happens on the access roads to a housing estate, they block the whole road and make no attempt to find a spot where cars might be able to pass.

 

Take this Monday for example I was on my way home having been to the shops in town and turned onto my estate to find a dust cart blocking the road.

The road had cars parked down one side with hardly any spaces to pull in so fearing a protracted wait on this particular stretch of road I did a u turn back out onto the main road and drove another mile to enter the estate from the opposite end.

As I did so my heart sank as I could see 100 yards ahead another dust cart blocking the only other access road to my destination.

I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw two other cars that had made the same discovery as I had.

I drove on as far as I could, about thirty yards from the obstruction, and tucked into a gap between two parked cars and waited.

I looked down the road at the driverless vehicle with its busy orange flashing lights which are supposed to warn of some kind of activity apparently not in this case.

I turned on the radio and amused myself by listening to Ken Bruce’s “Pop Master” quiz on  Radio 2, shouting out the answers and berating the contestant when they got it wrong.

Five minutes passed and nothing changed apart from the additional cars taking positions in the available gaps behind me.

The second combatant took her turn on the quiz and just as they were about to choose their bonus subject, I saw activity ahead.

A man in protective clothing moved towards the truck and opened the door.

The protective clothing consisted of safety footwear so they can kick your bins without hurting themselves, a Hi-visibility yellow coat so we can see them not moving very fast and Gloves to stop them getting chapped hands in the winter,

He climbed into the cabin after a few moments the truck started to move slowly in my direction.

As it did so the driver started making exaggerated hand and arm movement for which I could give no explanation.

As he got closer to me, he became even more animated and then he leant out of his window.

Still unaware of what the problem was but realising he was looking at me I wound down my window,

“You’re in the way” he shouted and pointed beyond my car “I need to get to those bins”.

Now although I find collection day to be a huge inconvenience, I put up with it, I don’t really have a choice but for him to start having a go at me rather pissed me off.

“What do want me to do about?” I responded.

“Where exactly do you expect me to go?”

“You should have hung back further up the road” He shouted again.

I didn’t point out to him that if I had stopped further up the road one of the cars behind me would be parked in the space now occupied by me instead, I said.

“So, I should have to park half a mile up the road because you’re inconsiderate”.

“Inconsiderate” He bellowed “Inconsiderate you’re the inconsiderate one mate”.

I took a deep breath before saying “One of us is blocking the road and it isn’t me, should I draw you a picture or do you get it now”?

“You’re the one blocking the bloody bins” he retorted his face a rather unattractive purple which did not go well with his yellow coat. 

“God forbid you actually have to wheel the bins an extra six feet” I replied “Mate”.

At this point a woman stepped off the curb and walked over to truck and looking up at the funny purple man made some enquiry about collection times for the coming holiday weekend.

“For god’s sake don’t distract the dustman now we’ll be here all day” I shouted to her.

The driver bristled visibly at the mention of the word “dustman” and ignoring the woman he drove slowly off followed by seven cars and there disgruntled drivers.

Only then could I continue my journey and although I had missed the end of “Pop Master” I felt I had acquitted myself well and struck a blow for the common man, figuratively speaking of course as he was younger and fitter than me and more purple.