Since a high percentage of the population, for reasons of ignorance or perhaps tactical reasons, have a strikingly uninvolved expression, the language comes to this all-day companion of the civilized world, let me explain briefly what it is all about: we are stupid , We are … but they are not. And because we are not so, we understand the following statements guaranteed, even without our head to smoke because of it.
We all know tubes. Sometimes we even eat them, when they are called ‘noodles’. In contrast to the tubes, the trash can has a floor that you can dispense badly, because otherwise you should pick the disgusting dirt directly from the kitchen floor. The upper end is either permanently open, sometimes open or at best mostly closed.
Trash can is not the same as trashcan:
The king under the trash cans is the trash, though he has neither a lid nor a crown. As the name implies, it accommodates at best only paper and cardboard. Should he at least, but especially in youth rooms there are still quite different things, as there are: broken CDs, pencil scraps, candies with and without paper, chocolate also with and without shell and pronounced like Apfelkitschen, but really can not help it. The way to the kitchen was too far and youthful legs just not reasonable.
The bourgeois trash can is not that easy anymore. Compassionate he has been given a lid, either to hang up or a fixed. So he is able to keep his secret at least for a while and only has to ventilate it at feeding times. But then we marvel at building blocks, what has gathered there all: empty milk packs, between which yogurt cups frantically roll over for a cookie, loads of cheese sheets and cleaned sausage packs complete the picture. Now and then put the screw of a jam jar in between or something else entirely.
The most pitiful fellow among the garbage cans is the organic bucket. The poor guy has to swallow all that remains of the rest of our food orgies, plus foods that have long since forgotten their expiration date.
All this really provides enough reason to hide it with the more than unpleasant smelling content as possible in a lower cabinet of the kitchen unit or behind the kitchen door. Incidentally, it is strongly advised to empty it as often as possible.
So, you already know the most important thing. Do you have any idea about dealing with these journeymen? No? Well, read on.
It is not enough that there is a trash can. No, it should shine cleanly to the outside, to fool over what it looks like inside. So the housewife whines away half dead, but does not leave it alone, but also decorates him with the supermarket bag of the last purchase. He looks really chic now. She basks happily in his plastic luster.
But she does not live alone. There are two more children and one man. As for the good of the poor bucket, they come out as risk factors on two legs up three. Every day several times, therefore, the plagued housewife asks:
For what? Why did I even put this bag in the bucket under moaning? The eternal bending over in such activities is exhausting.
One half of the offspring is approaching. She is not that young anymore, she is younger. But that in turn is not much to notice at the moment. The ice cream tasted good except for a small rest. He was too much, wants to dispose of the daughter with as little energy as possible. Unnecessary effort required holding the bag with one hand, then pushing the almost-empty ice-cream squirrel into the plastic grave. So ‘growing up’ makes it easy and throws the sticky story unmoved between bucket wall and bag side in the bucket. The sticky is very sticky and paper-like resistant to scuffing.
“Can not you even carry the garbage in the bag instead of next to it?” Mama grumbles.
“No, I can not!”, Says the offspring.
Obviously he wants to spare himself, because the next day he needs all his energy for the big sting concert.
“Really!” Mama protests, but already too late.
The offspring has dilute quickly, trots cheerfully into the hobby room, to sit down again intensively over the internet with the texts of his idol. Not a single thought about the bucket and not even the previous efforts of his mom.
Mom tries to console herself:
“After all, she threw it in the right bucket!”
Annoyed she whines again.
The bucket flashes again with the sun out in the field.
A few minutes later, Risk Factor Two shuffles into the kitchen. In her arms, this equally young lady balances a plate with scraps of food. For better knowledge, namely to dispose of those gnawed chicken bones, she chooses the shorter way to the bucket with the empty milk packets and the yoghurt cups, grabs the pan and scratches about half a meter above the container everything from the plate.
‘Ballsport’ has never suited you! “, Says Mama ironically.
She is about to burst, because she has taught the rest of the family exactly what belongs where. After that, Kid # 2 should have strapped it that pizza is not a foil.
Child No. Two keeps on scratching. Ball sports have never really been this daughter’s pleasure. Everything goes wrong, neither in the bag nor at least in the bucket. The pizza takes a cool tile bath on the kitchen floor.
“So, you wipe the mess away!” Mama mumbles and puts her hands on her hips.
What can I do if the bag is not in the right place? You have probably never complained! “, Defies this daughter.
With a blase-offended expression she grabs the rag, not without slamming the drawer with excessive momentum and – actually wipes. Afterwards, she peppered the said, now completely unhygenic cloth unmoved by his new outfits angrily in the sink and scared, without appreciating Mama another look, from the kitchen. Finally, football is on television. Mum cleans the rag.
Mom puts all her hope on the dad. At least he would … already she hears the bearer of hope approaching the kitchen in a hurry.
“He has either coffee thirst or proper Kohldampf!” She states.
It is thirsty. Dad opens one of the wall cabinets and grabs the coffee bag. He wants to make sure that enough powder is there, keeps in mind of the too early coffee enjoyment, the package oblique and oblique. Too weird, how it turns out then.
The powder enjoys trickling its freedom, settles in all reachable cracks, lands to a lesser extent in the sink, but much larger than a brown carpet on the kitchen floor.
“Oh, you shit …!”, Papa escapes.
“… sse!”, adds Mama, not ashamed of it even and indignant:
“Man, I just had everything clean!”
Angry, she looks at coffee powder Dolomites in front of her on the tiles.
“I’ll do it!”, Growls Papa.
In fact, he digs out his hand brush and dustpan and does not forget his daughter’s slamming the door of the cupboard. Mom scares a second time on this great day together.
“Well, at least he’s trying to make everything right!” She calms down.
Mum was clearly looking forward to early. What follows now is lonely top. The two rubbish bins are already full to bursting.
“Coffee powder still fits in!”, Papa secures secretly.
He does not get the idea to empty the things in the containers two meters from the front door. He is a typical man.
Instead, the terrified Mama must watch as he alternately treats both garbage pails a decent load of coffee powder until they both overflow. He does not hold the dustpan just above the bag, but plays Frau Holle No. 2 this afternoon. It rains powder, powder in the bag, powder between bag and bucket wall, of course also around the bucket on the floor and everywhere behind the kitchen door. Papa dumps and dumps and disregards all waste sorting laws. After cleaning, it is no longer possible to determine which bucket is which, only that they urgently need to be emptied.
The phone rings. Dad jumps in the vertical and rages extremely Dienstbeflissen. Funny, he never does that …
So he is not available.
Mama knows what to expect.
She sees first dark brown, then clearly black.
Wears the garbage bags to the container? Mummy!