Beyond the Bin

The kid was young, maybe thirteen. Tall and tanned, a stock of black hair, with a fringe hanging in menace over his right eye.

He looked worried, standing in front of the council rubbish bin on Main Street.

It was a small country town in northern Australia. Charters Towers at 10am, glaringly hot and humid, in the summer of 2025. Over the last 30 years I had not enjoyed the heat but I became accustomed to it. Everyone did in their own way,as I watched two of the local miners run barefoot across the broiling bitumen road to the Courthouse Hotel.

“Hotter than a snakes belly” one complained as he hopped along to reach the shade as quick as possible.

“Burn the arse off a low flying duck” the other responded.

The kid backed away from the bin with two empty coke cans, and then shuffled forward, as if sensing my presence would give him confidence. I was a metre away and collecting a load from the Toyota, for the charity shop behind us.

 

“You ok?” I asked, in a manly voice, not wanting to treat him like a child.

The return smile was weak…it screamed…

“Help me I don’t know what to do”

I sensed the flight over fight emotion was winning and he was about to tear off down the street, flopping around in pink crocs, designer T and baggy shorts. He was a good kid, but he was freaking out, and not just because of the old codger talking to him.

 

I smiled, balancing an ironing board under one arm and a slow cooker under the other. 

 

“There’s only one bin” I said.

He still looked around for the recycle bin.

“Small towns don’t have recycle bins everywhere” I offered.

He stared at me aghast and I thought it best not to mention the bin man was 72 next birthday, ol Pete struggled to empty one type of bin let alone two or three. The council could not recruit anyone younger.

Watching me juggle with my own the load, the kid summoned the courage to approach the yawning mouth of the bin.

And stepped back.

“It has a bin liner” he announced.

“That’s bad?” I asked myself but not out loud.

“It’s ok” I said “You can put cans in there”

He didn’t look at me again, but slowly stepped forward and fed the cans in like the Containers for Change recycle conveyor. First one, paused to see if it was rejected then the other and paused again. This time he did look at me, but there was no hint of a thank you, or relief.

He lingered half a second and I took the chance to say.

“It’s going to be a good day, enjoy it”

And he was gone.

 

But fear lingered. I have read about the indecision of youth and certainly knew all about it when I was a teenager. But this was different. This was about a confident kid carrying the weight of peer judgement. This was about someone already drafting a social media post to explain why he did not recycle two aluminium cans. This was someone crumbling under expectations and oblivious to the vastness and excitement that the Australian landscape throws at the traveler.  If I had a piece of advice for him?

“Don’t drink Coke, it will rot your guts.”