Originally published in The Clifton Courier, May 30, 2018

Just an update on where I am as a person now.

I live in a share house situation, which tends to breed passive aggressive behaviour and, if you’re silly enough to move into a house with a clearly-non-council-approved spiral staircase that leads to a maze of dungeon-like rooms like my friends were, scabies*.

* This is not a joke. This is what happens when five boys decide to live together and only the landlords of houses in need of demolition will approve them to rent. They caught actual scabies. Scabies!

Thankfully, passive aggressiveness appears to be the only infestation plaguing my flat and the flare-ups are minor and only seem to occur when the bins fills up.

Ever notice how whenever you take out the rubbish – no matter how infrequently you do so – you always feel like the only one who ever does it?

Any time you banish the waste to the confines of a wheelie bin, it makes you feel like a truly noble being. It’s like you’re the only one willing to take a stand. In you mind you are a heroic waste crusader; the last frontier keeping the household from being violently swallowed up by a mountain of empty yoghurt containers and banana peels.

I was taking out the recycling bin the other day, in a wee bit of a huff. I mean, I had to go all the way down the hall, down the stairs and open a door with a bucket in my hands. And I had to put on shoes to do this. The injustice of it all was difficult to ignore.

But, because I’m the backbone of the household and the defender of filth*, I humbly carried the bin downstairs to the bay of wheelie bins underneath my apartment building.

* I may even deserve a statue, or at least an oil painting of some description, to commemorate my great sacrifice for the greater good. It’s only reasonable. 

And as I was tipping countless wine bottles I’d not drunk a sip from (not that I’m bitter or anything…) into the bin, I noticed something: three containers looking suspiciously like Tupperware sitting in another recycling wheelie bin.

I had to investigate.

And sure enough, my eagle eyes had not deceived me. There were three clean, perfectly sound containers just sitting there, abandoned among the empty hummus tubs and water bottles.

As someone who learned much about the workings of society through the prism of Mum’s Tupperware Parties, I knew this was gold.

This wasn’t just some crappy plastic container from the two dollar shop; this was the good stuff. It’s the stuff you write your last name on with a nikko pen so someone doesn’t snag it from a primary school barbecue. I mean, those were airtight, stackable containers that could keep your jam drops fresh for week. And, being my mother’s daughter, I knew these babies had a lifetime guarantee*. Sure, they were missing their lids, but you don’t just throw something like that away**.

* I promise this hasn’t been sponsored by Tupperware in any way, not that I’d say no to a few spare lids. I just am very well-versed in the benefits of Tupperware, having spent a life time with no first-hand experience with weevils.

** But something tells me these people had more dollars than sense. I mean, one of the containers was quite large and had a label on it that read “dried apricots”. Those wrinkly bastards aren’t cheap. If you eat them so much that they need their own designated container – let alone a big arse container – then you’re obviously making bank. One day I’d like to be wealthy enough to not care about a Tupperware lifetime guarantee, but I can’t see it happening. 

So of course I fished them out.

And then I started digging to find the lids. Some would call this “dumpster diving” but I would be more inclined to label it “not being the kind of dingbat who would turn their back on free Tupperware”. I’d also like to point out that it was a recycling bin, so it wasn’t like I was rummaging through used nappies.

Perhaps this will turn out to be a pivotal moment in my life, clearly marking the end of my youth and the beginning of my adult life.

I mean, there are few things that scream “grown up” quite like a dedication to extending the shelf life of baked goods through proper pantry storage. There was no turning back now.

And in case there was any doubt about what I’ve become; I wasn’t even disappointed I only found one lid. Because now I have an excuse to “have a few of the girls around” and put on a batch of scones*.

* Pumpkin, of course.