The Bin.
I suppose that it's a matter of principle.
My neighbours have been placing their garbage bin very close to our side of the kerb. Their kerb consists of a variety of plants and fauna that block a direct route of access from their gate to the bin; normally, their maid would have to walk around the kerb to dump their garbage.
What my father takes offence to is that the neighbour's doing this so that there won't be any unpleasant odours going towards their gate...which means that our side suffers. Likewise, those nice men from Douglas Waste are more prone to use our side to access the neighbours' trash rather than their side...which annoys my father enough to compel him to become the Anti-Tai.
For the last few days, he's asked my uncle to move the neighbours' bin deeper into their side of the kerb to let them know his feelings. In his own words, if they didn't get the message, regardless of his current condition, he'd personally throw their bin into their pond. Either that, or kill their plants via a mixture of salt and detergent. Simply because it's a brilliant example of 'shock and awe'; something so incredibly drastic, in one mind-numbing blow, that they get the message. His example was Colin Powell. Go figure.
It'd be preferable for my father to just talk to them, but apparently that would mean we'd be asking them to do us a favour. I suppose that I could talk to them myself, but I have testicles made of cotton, which causes me to stray from anything that remotely resembles anything confrontational, no matter how mild the situation.
Honestly? I feel that my father's right in principle...but not in practice. I wouldn't want to freak out my neighbours' two young daughters with having my psycho dad throw their bin into their house, waving his arms around like a lunatic. And I wouldn't want to poison their plants in lieu of the risk that their incredibly sweet-natured dog might take a bite and die.
However, in his own words, he's quite willing 'to die' for these people, just to see his point driven across. Over a bin. Risk a heart attack. Over a bin. It makes no sense, although I'm grateful for this sudden realization:
He's turned even pettier than I am.
My neighbours have been placing their garbage bin very close to our side of the kerb. Their kerb consists of a variety of plants and fauna that block a direct route of access from their gate to the bin; normally, their maid would have to walk around the kerb to dump their garbage.
What my father takes offence to is that the neighbour's doing this so that there won't be any unpleasant odours going towards their gate...which means that our side suffers. Likewise, those nice men from Douglas Waste are more prone to use our side to access the neighbours' trash rather than their side...which annoys my father enough to compel him to become the Anti-Tai.
For the last few days, he's asked my uncle to move the neighbours' bin deeper into their side of the kerb to let them know his feelings. In his own words, if they didn't get the message, regardless of his current condition, he'd personally throw their bin into their pond. Either that, or kill their plants via a mixture of salt and detergent. Simply because it's a brilliant example of 'shock and awe'; something so incredibly drastic, in one mind-numbing blow, that they get the message. His example was Colin Powell. Go figure.
It'd be preferable for my father to just talk to them, but apparently that would mean we'd be asking them to do us a favour. I suppose that I could talk to them myself, but I have testicles made of cotton, which causes me to stray from anything that remotely resembles anything confrontational, no matter how mild the situation.
Honestly? I feel that my father's right in principle...but not in practice. I wouldn't want to freak out my neighbours' two young daughters with having my psycho dad throw their bin into their house, waving his arms around like a lunatic. And I wouldn't want to poison their plants in lieu of the risk that their incredibly sweet-natured dog might take a bite and die.
However, in his own words, he's quite willing 'to die' for these people, just to see his point driven across. Over a bin. Risk a heart attack. Over a bin. It makes no sense, although I'm grateful for this sudden realization:
He's turned even pettier than I am.
Labels: Musings
posted by funkyhippopotamus at
11:09:00 pm
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