A moment

Photo: 20 years on and I’m still oiling the old bike.

A load of old rubbish

“If you like I could drop them off at your house”. I’m in town and a friendly shopper has asked if I want some old neglected shrubs to look after as they are clearing out a few old borders. “I’ll think about it”, I say cautiously. I’ve been stung before by people offloading unwanted items onto me, and I am thinking back to the times when I have been unexpectedly left holding old rubbish. Maybe if I recall my past experiences I can make an informed decision.

Skipping along

I used to spend a lot of time upside down in skips. Here you could freely rummage around inside the rusting containers to see, and be amazed, at what people were throwing out. I enjoyed the thrill of finding something that was only slightly broken or looked as though it might double up as a thingamybob for some project I was working on in the garden. I used to come home with all sorts of rubbish that might come in useful one day. I did get some good stuff occasionally. Mostly all I was doing was slightly delaying the inevitability of the junk ending up in the landfill. At least I was in control of what was being dragged down the driveway though. It hasn’t always been like that.

I still hesitate to give an answer to my friendly stranger.

You’re barred

I was working behind a bar in a town outside of Nottingham in my early twenties. It was an extremely busy pub at the weekends, with ten people deep at the bar all waiting to buy their pints of lager before beating each other up. I chose to work on weekdays when the odd passer buy would pop in for a snifter before going home. It was far less stressful but did have its problems.

A small sweaty man used to pop in every so often for a half of bitter and one day produced some items out of a well-used carrier bag he was holding. “Here”, he said throwing something over the bar. “I don’t have any use for these anymore so you can have them if you like”. The man brushed aside his comb over hairstyle and showed me a pair of shoes, two sizes smaller that I take and a pair of jeans that were at least six inches too short both around the waist and length for me. “I’ve no use for them anymore”, he continued. I watched a bead of sweat roll down his forehead to his cheek and for some reason took pity on the blokes needy look. “Yea, I’ll have them, thanks”. I said taking the bag. I didn’t want him bursting into tears.

The following week the man came back “Half a bitter please”. He beamed at me over the counter. I duly obliged and passed the drink over to him holding out my hand for the money. “What?” He asked indignantly. “I gave you that stuff last week, surely that’s worth a drink or two”, he said with a wink. I had been bought, tricked into a one sided contract. He tried to get a freebie drink from me the next week too, but I was prepared and threw his jeans and shoes back to him over the counter. He left spitting obscenities, no doubt to try it on in the pub down the road.

Still no decision and in a flash I recall another instance.

Hang ‘em high

I was working in an office when a boss asked me if I would like some “Really good wardrobes”. Not wanting to miss this bargain I took a van to his house and came away with hundreds of dismantled panels and a big bag of screws that were once grotty old wardrobes that should have been smashed up years ago. I was too spineless again to say no, as my boss was so enthusiastic about them I didn’t want to disappoint. They went straight to the bottom of the garden when I got home and stayed there finally rotting into the soil.

Pluck it

My next brush with spinelessness was when a friendly neighbour asked me if I wanted a pheasant for my tea. Having only just moved to rural Ireland from an English city, I had an image of the bird being delivered to me ready for the oven so again I said yes. “There you go”, my neighbour walked into the house barely suppressing his humour heaving the freshly shot bird onto the table. The blood trickled onto the floor and the beady birds eye followed me to the kitchen drawer where I kept the knives. It took Julie and I all day to pluck and prepare the poor thing. There’s a lot to be said for oven ready birds from the butcher.

On yer bike

My final incident with my lack of assertiveness saying no was when an acquaintance was getting ready to go home to Spain and offered me his bike before he left “For a fair price”. Always open to a bargain, he suggested I went to have a look at it first to make sure it was what I wanted. There were two bikes in his shed; one was fantastic, lightweight frame, all the extras. The other was a dull looking neglected specimen that was crying out for oil. I made the assumption that it was the better bike of the two for sale and accepted the fair price he was offering. When it came to doing the deal the following week, I produced the money and he produced the oil starved neglected bike from the corner of the shed. I handed over the money, kicking myself in the process and swearing to myself to learn to say no.

This last incident happened over 20 years ago and of course now I am ever assertive. In my head I am politely refusing the plants, determined to keep my own space clutter free. My words and actions let me down. The shrubs are being delivered tomorrow.