We have a bald-headed coot living next door. The day after our first rubbish collection, just three days after we moved in, this numbskull rang the doorbell!
“Hi”. His hand extends in greeting. “I’m Humphrey, from next door. Welcome to the neighbourhood”, and without further social engagement, launched into his suggestion for the placement of our wheelie bins! Helen had joined me at the front door: like me, quite eager to meet some of our new neighbours. But before we could even introduce ourselves, he’d turned and departed!
“Well that’s going to be a little confronting,” Helen suggested, as we retreated back to our coffees! “I think we’ve just met the bloke referenced in that note from the previous owners!” We chuckled as we contemplated learning life’s little lessons for suburban living. We’d downsized from the farm, fifty k’s out from town, where a wheelie bin was just a dreamed luxury. Here, at day three, we were learning about the minutiae of neighbourly wheelie bin etiquette.
We also met Humphrey’s wife. Harriet, a fish-wifey sorta lady, confided that Humphrey ‘has a bit of a bee in his bonnet, sometimes’. Apparently, he’d had a fall many years ago.
Harriet told us about the regular, noisy parties at number 53, and the Woollies and Uber Eats deliveries at 47. Without drawing breath, we also heard that she suspected the woman at 61 was having an affair, as Harriet is seeing a young man visiting in the evenings! And, OMG, the chap across the road fills his purple top with whiskey bottles!
We inadvertently committed several more wheelie bin indiscretions! Humphy’ advised that our green top was at least a foot over his boundary. Several weeks later, the garbo dropped our emptied yellow top across the ‘Mason-Dixon’ line. Scraps of old newspapers and a milk carton had drifted into his gutter. Mon Dieu!
I was fed up with his pettiness. On Tuesday evening, I deliberately placed our red top 15 centimetres over the line! I surreptitiously watched from behind the loungeroom curtains. Sure enough, I had hardly taken up my post when he was out like a shot, moving our bin.
Funny how some opportunities present themselves. A few weeks later I was at the tip, coincidentally at the same time as our garbage truck. I recognised the driver. I had a devilish idea and sidled over. I described our next-door neighbour’s obsession. He chuckled. “No worries mate. I can fix that.”
On the next pickup, both our bins were missed. Then his bins were missed for three schedules. One morning, his whole shebang was tipped into the street. Over successive weeks, his green top was broken, the truck ran over and shattered his purple top and his yellow top went missing.
We heard his outrage directed into the street. We sympathised, but had no explanation. By way of improving engagement, they came over for a barbeque dinner. We noshed on steak, salad and shiraz, while bemoaning Council’s derelictions.