Originally published by The Clifton Courier, June 5, 2019

I wrote this short, sharp burst of rage after putting off writing my column until the last minute as I was devoid of even any half-baked ideas. My editor shot me an email telling em that, given how close they were to finishing that week’s paper, the slot allocated for my smut had shrunk somewhat. I thought it was a good opportunity to get something off my chest .

I’ve just watched an Instagram video of a friend participating some kind of waterfall cleansing ceremony in Bali where she has to rid her body of all negativity by screaming into a curtain of rushing water. She said it was freeing and epic.

I too would like that feeling – to be released from the shackles of my rage.

But I, unfortunately, happen to find myself inside a Queenslander with paper-thin walls surrounded by neighbours on a not-all-that-quiet suburban street. If I were to audibly let out the 4,893 megalitres of negativity inside my body, the house would quickly be surrounded by a swat team.

So, instead, I’m going to purge myself of my underlying rage in the form of a short, sharp little rant by angrily tapping on my keyboard.

I feel like these little spaces are ideal for venting spontaneously about something extremely trivial with absolutely no justification. Last time it was the yuckiness of fake mint flavouring and, by extension, toothpaste. Today, I choose to direct my anger towards those bins with the flappy lids.

If you’re lucky enough not to be familiar with them, these are the ones that have triangular, pointed tops – kind of like giant milk cartons.

I grew up in a household with a foot-activated bin. You pressed down on the pedal, the lid flipped open and you could dump your pencil shavings in one painless motion. You didn’t have to touch the bin. You didn’t have to bend down. You weren’t a slave to the vessel containing the household rubbish. And when the lid came down, all the filth was sealed off from the world. It’s an excellent system.

So I cannot understand why people endure the bins with these flappy lids that swing up and down like they’re mocking you with their big, stupid binny grins.

They never completely close, meaning the stench and germs from your waste leech out and pollute the air you breathe into your precious, precious lungs. If you want to put something small in there, you have to get right up close to the garbage. You have to stoop down to its level. And, if you’re chucking out a teabag, you generally end up getting tea on the outside flap and have to wipe it off.

Most frustrating of all, if your bin gets to the point where it’s nearly full but not full enough to traipse out to the wheelie bin in your pyjamas wearing bedsocks and thongs, you can’t really use the lid. The lid gets stuck on a large chunk of rubbish and you find yourself needing to lift the whole flappy lid apparatus throw away a single teabag.

We all know I was leading to this point but there’s really no other way to wrap up this unprovoked outburst: this type bin needs to be binned.*

* In a responsible manner that will insure the plastic will be recycled and used for another product that will better the live of humanity.