The garbage police
I got caught for the third time this morning and people in the house are starting to talk. It looks as if there may be consequences for me this time. Word has it that I may be soon getting a visit from Frau Plassmann, the old lady on the ground floor. She’s the garbage Spitzel (informant) in our building. She’s the only one we know about for sure, that is. She saw me put some empty milk cartons in the normal garbage bin and not in the yellow “empty container” garbage bin next to it. One doesn’t do that here. I don’t know how she saw it but she did. Oh man I’m dead.
You can’t just simply put your household garbage in a garbage can in this country. That would bring the entire garbage collection process to a screeching halt. Glass goes in one container, the biodegradable stuff goes in another, newspapers in the next one. If you break the rules, they won’t pick your garbage up. And if they don’t pick your garbage up, people like Frau Plassmann start making calls to the Zentrale, you know; the garbage police. I’ve never actually seen them, but they must exist. They have to. How else could you get everyone here so nervous and anxious about separating milk cartons and yogurt cups and stuff?