When every home is a waste-transfer station

The inelegance of the new trash and recycling bins wouldn’t be such a problem if they were easy to hide, but they’re not. Even the smallest recycling bin screams “heavy industry.” Cabbagetown’s front porches will look like a series of waste-transfer stations. I live in a house with little frontage and no direct access to the back yard. Currently I keep my recycling bins in the basement, since their handy size makes it easy to lug them out front, even when laden with two weeks’ worth of newspapers. I have no idea where I am going to keep these new monstrosities. Apparently people can make arrangements for something more convenient, provided they can convince the city that their situation merits special attention. So we can all look forward to our day in garbage court.

Anyway, in case you have not yet thought through the ramifications of this new garbage pricing scheme, here’s a tip: at some point in the next few months, you must conduct the most ruthless spring cleaning you’ve ever done in your life. Sell everything you can on Craigslist and pitch out the boxes of tchotchkes and high school trophies and everything else you’ve been hoarding in the mistaken belief that you or someone else might one day find the stuff interesting or useful. Because it’s your last chance to landfill it free of charge.