Tip Run by Alex Kellet

I knew I shouldn’t have come to the tip on a Sunday, the queues are always massive. I should have come in the week, but I couldn’t be arsed. Yet another mistake I’ve made. Petrol is nearly empty as well, that’s another job I’ll have to do. Never fucking ends, does it?

There’s at least 14 cars ahead of me, I’m going to be stuck here for ages now. Maybe I should dump this stuff here, be done with it. There’s not that much, I don’t reckon anyone would see if I went up the road and chucked it round the back of that industrial estate. No, that’s not right, anyone could get their hands on it. Some junkie would probably sell it, or use it for all sorts. They’re everywhere now. Everything’s gone to shit.

Maybe I should’ve tried selling it. It’s hardly been used, might have got a few quid back on it, to be fair. Could turn around, go home and get it up on Facebook this afternoon. No, stop putting it off. Nobody should have this stuff. It needs to go; to be forgotten. Every time I look at it, it just takes me back to that day. That day.

Queue is moving a bit now anyway. I’ll know how big it is when I get round that next corner. Dip the clutch, find the bite and close up the gap. Maybe there’s not as many in front of me as I thought. Just got to keep moving forward.

I can smell the tip from here. Fucking stinks. Doesn’t help that it’s so fucking hot today either. Should really get the air-con fixed on this car; that’s another job I need to do. Not a burning fire though, won’t need it in a few weeks’ time when it gets colder, darker and starts pissing down. I should make the most of this weather, really. Maybe I’ll find a pub with a decent beer garden on the way back. No, I promised myself I wouldn’t drink today, been doing too much of that lately.

Maybe she wouldn’t have left if I hadn’t drank so much. We should have talked more, got it all out in the open. We could have saved it. Instead, we let it destroy us. Booze was just the easiest option. That and work. Actually, I’ve probably put more hours into work than I have drinking. That’s what’s wrong with the world; people are being asked to do more work for the same pay, and the more work you do, the more you get. Bit like booze really. Still, I probably deserve one after this. Just one, then I’ll have a night off it and go to the gym tomorrow.

Oh fucking hell, I’ve still got ages to go yet. There must still be another dozen cars in front of me. Wish they’d all hurry up so I could get this over and done with. Seriously, how long does it take to throw some shit into a skip? To be fair to the blokes on the gate, it’s not in their interest to get everyone through quickly. They still down tools at the same time every day, no matter how busy it is. They’ve got it worked out. No point working any harder, as they’ll just have more work to do. Maybe I should get a job down here, I bet it wouldn’t be that bad. It’s outdoors, at least. Would get me out of my head a bit, stop me from feeling so stressed out. Maybe that would have stopped her from walking out. Money might be a bit shit, of course.

So bored. Sick of looking at the back of this bloke’s car, now. Can’t even look at my phone to pass the time. Sometimes I don’t even know I’m looking at it, or for how long. Just scrolling through memes to eat up the minutes rather than face reality. I must have been in the bogs for about half an hour the other day. It was only when I started to lose the sensation in my legs that I thought I’d better get up. She told me I spend too much time on my phone, but I didn’t listen. She said she was surprised I noticed she was leaving, as it meant I’d taken my eyes off that fucking screen for long enough to see her packing her bags. I got so fucking hammered that day. Worse than when it all happened, worse than the funeral.

After she left, the silence was the worst part. I could feel it, the quiet; like something big and heavy was sitting on my head, pressing me into the ground. I couldn’t bear it. It made me think too much. About what had happened and how it had just torn us apart. Made me think that she’s found someone else. Makes sense; I’m out at work or getting pissed, she finds comfort in the arms of another man. I hope she has, she deserves someone better. A fresh start, that’s what we both need. Hurts like a motherfucker though. The drink helps block out the silence, and the pain.

Christ, this place is a shit hole. I hate coming to this part of town, makes me depressed. Nothing but empty shop units, nail bars and charity shops. Pubs are either closed or nothing but battlegrounds for old men. I remember when it was busy down here. Loads of people milling about, especially on Friday and Saturday nights. We had a few nights out down here, actually. Those early days were the best. Few drinks, bit of dancing, maybe some karaoke. She was a great singer as well, at least I thought she was. She used to take the piss out of my singing but I didn’t mind. If I could make her laugh then that made me happy. Then we’d have a takeaway and go home and have a cup of tea. We used to stay up all night talking. If only we could have done that once in the last few months.

I’ll be at the gate soon, better start thinking about what I’ll say to that guy at the barrier. Don’t want him to think I don’t know what I’m doing. But I don’t actually know which skip to put this in, so I’d better ask. Shall I tell him what it is? Is it household? Or plastic? It’s not all plastic, got some metal bits on it as well. Fuck, I’m not sure, probably should just tell him what it is. Don’t fuck it up. Just put the window down and tell him. Here we go. “Alright, mate? I’ve got a pram and some other baby stuff.”

“Sound. Stick it all in number seven.”

Alex Kellet

Image Robin Stott / Recycling Centre, Prince’s Drive, Leamington Spa from Wikicommons. A recycling tip with cars parked alongside bins and a metal building in the background.