Elyse Sewell (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} elysesewell) wrote,@ 2008-04-30 11:17:00 |
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emesissary
I've mentioned before that Koreans recycle their trash fastidiously. Our apartment has four trash cans with color-coded bags for recyclables, combustibles, waste, and food. Every single person in this country is scrupulous about separating their damn trash except, apparently, my model colleagues. I'm sure they're all hunched over their laptops writing hate blogs about me right now: every morning I go digging through the trash fishing PET bottles out of the waste can, styrofoam trays out of the combustibles can, disposable chopsticks and candy wrappers out of the food can, then deliver some speech ranging in tone from the pep-talky, "Come on, guys! Look how easy it is to separate the trash! It's morally wrong not to do it, so let's do it right!" to the outrageously annoying, "Julia? Is this yours? Because I got it out of the food trash can? And this? Isn't food? Actually it is plastic? So you should put it in the waste can? The one with the orange bag? OK?" I said this while waving a quail egg box around in her face; she probably wanted to snatch it out of my hand and slap a bitch with it. But come on, jerks, if you'd just separate the trash I could stop pitchin' hissies.
All right, they may never learn, and honestly, I'm not too exercised about performing this chore myself. It doesn't take very long, it doesn't really gross me out, it's fine. I will do it.
Some new roommates have arrived in recent days; haven't told you about them; nothing exciting. The best part about them is the hilariously rabid rage they inspire in The Canuck with their endless blathering about diet-related inanities. "How much fat is in soy milk? Oh my god, gro-o-ss, this candy has as many calories as a piece of chocolate! I'm being soooo naughty today [referring to 100mL of instant hot cocoa]! I need to talk to the agency about my composite card: they said that my hips were 89cm and they're really 88cm! Elyse, how big are your hips?" This is the stuff of Canuckian homicidal fantasies: she spends each morning glowering over the rim of her bowl of Frosted Flakes as these girls stare at themselves in the mirror, preening, pinching the backs of their legs in order to regard themselves with slimmer-looking thighs.
What is the worst part about them, you ask? I'd neglected my trashwalla duties all weekend and was separating an unusually overflowing heap this morning. PET bottle into the recycling. Cookie box into the combustibles. Beer can into the recycling. Four reeking tied-up grocery bags full of liquid vomit? Um. Does that go into the food can?
Aww, shit! Bulimic betty in the house y'all! Throw your Russell's sign in the air!
The temptation to leave an obnoxious, emoticon- and exclamation mark-studded note is almost irresistible:
"IN THE FUTURE, PLEASE PURGE INTO THE TOILET!!!! :) THANKS!!! <3 THE MANAGEMENT :)"
Or I could provide a helpful label for each garbage can:
"COMBUSTIBLES/RECYCLABLES/WASTE/FOOD AND BULIMIA OFFAL"
But I think I'll do the the humane thing: determine the identity of the rogue puker and give her a low-toned "Hey, can you cool it with the bags of barf? It's really stinking up the terrace. Thanks, girl."
Tied-up bags full of barf. Tied-up bags full of barf! This is how we live.
I've mentioned before that Koreans recycle their trash fastidiously. Our apartment has four trash cans with color-coded bags for recyclables, combustibles, waste, and food. Every single person in this country is scrupulous about separating their damn trash except, apparently, my model colleagues. I'm sure they're all hunched over their laptops writing hate blogs about me right now: every morning I go digging through the trash fishing PET bottles out of the waste can, styrofoam trays out of the combustibles can, disposable chopsticks and candy wrappers out of the food can, then deliver some speech ranging in tone from the pep-talky, "Come on, guys! Look how easy it is to separate the trash! It's morally wrong not to do it, so let's do it right!" to the outrageously annoying, "Julia? Is this yours? Because I got it out of the food trash can? And this? Isn't food? Actually it is plastic? So you should put it in the waste can? The one with the orange bag? OK?" I said this while waving a quail egg box around in her face; she probably wanted to snatch it out of my hand and slap a bitch with it. But come on, jerks, if you'd just separate the trash I could stop pitchin' hissies.
All right, they may never learn, and honestly, I'm not too exercised about performing this chore myself. It doesn't take very long, it doesn't really gross me out, it's fine. I will do it.
Some new roommates have arrived in recent days; haven't told you about them; nothing exciting. The best part about them is the hilariously rabid rage they inspire in The Canuck with their endless blathering about diet-related inanities. "How much fat is in soy milk? Oh my god, gro-o-ss, this candy has as many calories as a piece of chocolate! I'm being soooo naughty today [referring to 100mL of instant hot cocoa]! I need to talk to the agency about my composite card: they said that my hips were 89cm and they're really 88cm! Elyse, how big are your hips?" This is the stuff of Canuckian homicidal fantasies: she spends each morning glowering over the rim of her bowl of Frosted Flakes as these girls stare at themselves in the mirror, preening, pinching the backs of their legs in order to regard themselves with slimmer-looking thighs.
What is the worst part about them, you ask? I'd neglected my trashwalla duties all weekend and was separating an unusually overflowing heap this morning. PET bottle into the recycling. Cookie box into the combustibles. Beer can into the recycling. Four reeking tied-up grocery bags full of liquid vomit? Um. Does that go into the food can?
Aww, shit! Bulimic betty in the house y'all! Throw your Russell's sign in the air!
The temptation to leave an obnoxious, emoticon- and exclamation mark-studded note is almost irresistible:
"IN THE FUTURE, PLEASE PURGE INTO THE TOILET!!!! :) THANKS!!! <3 THE MANAGEMENT :)"
Or I could provide a helpful label for each garbage can:
"COMBUSTIBLES/RECYCLABLES/WASTE/FOOD AND BULIMIA OFFAL"
But I think I'll do the the humane thing: determine the identity of the rogue puker and give her a low-toned "Hey, can you cool it with the bags of barf? It's really stinking up the terrace. Thanks, girl."
Tied-up bags full of barf. Tied-up bags full of barf! This is how we live.
