A dustbin was emptied in Kampala today.
Needless to say this greatly hurt the dustbin’s feelings.
“To think that I have nursed and cherished that motley collection of biscuit wrappers and crumpled paper for this long to be abandoned like that? Not cool. Not cool at all, in fact I am yet to come to terms with it.” The visibly distressed dustbin confided to our reporter this morning.
Consultations with other inmates at the office revealed that the dustbin suffers deeply every time the rubbish is thrown out. Our reporter found them huddled in the tea room gossiping,
“I don’t know why she can’t seem to understand that that is the way of the world. You aren’t supposed to get attached to rubbish. Rubbish always leaves you,” vehemently argued Regina, the Office Fattie who also part times as a low self esteem reservoir for the entire street.
“That refuse collection device is an intuitively compulsive nurturer,” Interjected a loud mouthed bore by the name of Reginald.
“The quandary of aforesaid conundrum is that such stereotypes want to be needed. But the nature of rubbish is that it is not needed. Ergo that ipso fact cannot co-currently need per se. it is estopped. You get my drift?
Blank stares. Reginald ploughed on.
That said I am convinced that to subsidize her emotional facilities our dear dustbin can only attain altruistic balance in a semblance of a profession that suits her. Nursing maybe? At any ratethat is my position and come what may I am determined to stick to It.” concluded Reginald who to this day still nurtures an ambition of being an intellectual and charismatic orator.
“Ah! She is like that!” declared Rita, the office coquette. (You’d be hard pressed to find anybody or anything that Regina hates with more intensity. Which is understandable; while Rita is pretty and flirty with a thin waist and perky boobs, Regina is a waddling cave woman with thighs like rolls of carpet.)
“The dustbin is like that,” continued Rita, batting her eye-lashes so fast it was a wonder they didn’t just fly off her face. “For me I think she likes being miserable. Anyway some of us girls are like that.”
At this point Rita excused herself to visit the washroom. Her eyes had begun smoking from all the eye-batting friction and she needed to apply more break-fluid. Our reporter decided to visit the management to see what they had to say about the dustbins state of heart.
“Why are you interested in the dustbin anyway? She will get over it. It’s kind of her job. Wait and see.” said the General Manager, and indeed by the time we went to press, the dustbin was lovingly cradling some mangada peels in its bosom.