The Tip Attendant

Why do we only ever go to the tip on the weekends? Out of only two days you’ve got free you spend one of them surrounded by rubbish, shifting through the same box for the fifth time that day because the tip attendant doesn’t believe the fact there’s no microwaves or computers tucked away in the corner. Quite why anyone would want to hide ‘electrical goods,’ as he calls them, from him I have no idea. To go to through the bother of constructing some kind of hidden Chinese draw in the folds of the cardboard just to get one over a tip attendant really seems a little far fetched.

It seems strange in these days of high tech intuition and intellect we still, for some intrinsic reason, bind ourselves to logically unsound methods of waste disposal. ‘Pull up and dump your stuff’ is pretty much as simple as it gets – not if you add the English into the equation it isn’t. Possibly why each question has to be seconded by everyone else on shift is beyond me. You know the metal goes under the big sign that says ‘metal’ yet still you have to ask. One hour later you’re finally given the go ahead. Two minutes later however you hear this: “ah, ah, ah, you can’t put that in there! Bob can he put metal in there?” If you already have suicidal tendencies stay away from the tip this weekend else you might just find yourself being mulled over by ten tip attendants, rubbing their heads, saying: “Corpses? I’m sure they go in with the electrical goods.”