Be on the lookout for the recycling police. This force rummaged in blue bins in my neighbourhood for three pickups. After they rummaged, they left notes on the do’s and don’ts of recycling. I felt violated. I didn’t want anyone to know staples of my diet are Fruit Loops, KD and one-bite brownies. The recycling officers seemed to be lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce when the cart went from the driveway to its spot on the street. My wife Sandy and I were caught off guard the first time our bin was checked. We had no warning of such a sinister plot coming out of City Hall. I suppose that was the point. Everyone on the block had a note attached to their bin. We got a happy face for being model recycling people. We were about as happy as people can be given someone had been looking in our bin. The second time, we got a note saying the top of an ice cream container was a no-no. People who complied didn’t get a note of any type this time. Those with notes and those without were about half-and-half on our street.

I am sure the noteless people snickered at those of us with one. They probably had all kinds of theories for what we did wrong. Well, it’s none of their business. Keep your mitts off my note and my bin. I thought about putting something illegal in the goodie-goodie people’s bins. It could be Styrofoam, for example. Anyway, the third time we got a note, it annoyed us. The note said our infraction was an ice cream container. We had been written up for the top. Why wouldn’t we have been written up for a bottom at the same time? The note seemed chintzy. In hindsight our decision to put the container in the bin was not well thought out. This whole escapade also told me that my wife and I are eating too much ice cream. We buy vanilla and snazzy it up with pieces of a Kit Kat bar or a two-bite brownie or Smarties, and typically add a drizzle of chocolate syrup. I will gladly make my recipe available to readers. Anyway, there is, as far as I know, no way to challenge a recycling note. Ripping it up is about the best a person can do as a protest. If I rip one up, it should go right back into the recycling bin, where my ice cream containers once were. One of my neighbours said she felt like a total failure when she got notes. It must be hurtful to max out, and couldn’t be good for a person’s self-esteem. Who wants to go to counselling for recycling infractions? I worry about her not feeling up to cutting my grass. This whole bin thing is way out of control. It is confusing to know which bin goes on the street on which day. Thankfully, a neighbour — not the recycling failure — is one of the first to put out his bin. When his is out, I roll mine out. Actually, Sandy does more rolling than me. Anyway, I promise to never again put an ice cream container in my recycling cart. (I didn’t say I wouldn’t put it in someone else’s.)

 *****

 I have officially had it with John Gormley’s radio show. As I have written previously, I chuckle and shake my head when he works Prime Minister Trudeau into virtually every segment. He is relentless and savvy. On a recent day, Gormley crossed the line. I was driving and listening to his show. Within seconds of a Gormley reference to Trudeau, the radio in my 1974 vehicle went dead. We are talking literally seconds, like fewer than five. My radio was as dead as a duck, which is one of those weird sayings, as are more than one way to skin a cat, and don’t beat a dead horse. PETA should put an end to this. Anyway, I turned the radio off and tried to turn it on again, hoping it would fire back up. I tried it at least five times. Then, I pounded on the dash a couple of times. Nothing but dust. Gormley was gone. Gormley is gone forever when I am driving this car. And I love driving this car. Gormley and Trudeau and I had a pretty good run. Too bad it had to end this way.

– Cam Hutchinson