But he wasn't.
No, no, no. He wasn't.
Why was he glaring at me, you ask?
Well, from what I can gather, I didn't sort my recycling carefully enough.
That's right. I did not sort my debris to his liking.
Usually I am meticulous about sorting the recycling, but what with the frivolity of Christmas and Max's birthday I had delegated some of the recycling tasks to those who shall remain nameless...cough cough...
MAXFDPGDOMINIC...cough cough...but let's just say that those nameless culprits aren't as, um, ZEALOUS about sorting as I am. There was some - GASP - paper in the plastic section. And the plastics were carelessly bundled together in a big mess.
So, because we happened to be in the family room, doing schoolwork when Recycling Man came by with his recycling truck, and because that family room happens to overlook the road where the recycling truck was situated, we saw Recycling Man stomp around the blue box, glare at the blue box, pick up the blue box and shake it towards our house, then stomp around a bit more and glare down the entire length of the driveway (whereupon we all fell instantly to our knees in case he saw us gaping out the window), and, finally, slap a giant fluorescent orange sticker on our blue box, giving us one last venomous gaze before he barrelled away in his truck.
We picked ourselves up. We giggled a bit, mostly from shock. I asked Max to go out and see what the sticker said, but he refused, until Recycling Man had left the vicinity. And mostly we all cowered in the family room, slightly shocked by that glare.
That terrible awful glare.
Is this what our city means by "implementing new recycling policies, more in line with current trends in community management"?
Recycling Man Goes Rogue?
You can bet I'm going to be sorting my recycling more carefully this week.