I had some kind of mysterious bug today and found it difficult to sleep last night. It meant I was up at 7.45 when my binmen arrived, so I pulled on some jogging bottoms and a T-shirt and walked out into the drizzly morning to give them their Christmas bonus.
I don't give a Christmas bonus to any other of the other working men who visit my house regularly (by which I mean postmen and binmen, rather than male prostitutes obviously - I pay them enough at that time and cannot justify a bonus. The bonus they get is to have sex with me anyway). The postman gets nothing, mainly because I seem to have a different postman every week and it seems unfair to reward the one who happens to be working at Christmas, but partly because they make so many mistakes with my post that I don't think they deserve anything. I don't have a milkman or a paperboy (aside from the men who post free newspapers through my door every week, but I don't want those, so it seems wrong to tip the men who give them to me). I could give money to the men who come and pick up my recycling, but though they are binmen in a way, that doesn't seem right. I know this isn't correct, but it feels like they are doing something altruistic so rewarding them with money seems inappropriate. Clearly this is skewed logic. Firstly they are just employees of the council who might easily be proper binmen and secondly if they were doing the job because they cared about the world then surely they would deserve a Christmas bonus more than anyone. But when it comes down to it psychologically the recycling men don't have the horrible, dirty job of the regular bin men. The recycling men only have to deal with orange plastic bags full of paper and glass. The worst thing that could happen to them is that some glass gets broken. Binmen have to wade around in filth and dirt and all the nastiest detritus of human life. You might argue that all the stuff they touch is wrapped up in black bin liners so their job isn't all that different. But at least the recycling men get orange bin liners and some brightness in their lives. Let's face it recycling men seem like middle class artisans (even though they almost certainly aren't) whilst binmen seem like proper working men, who live in Dickensian hovels and have crippled children who they wouldn't be able to buy presents for without twenty pounds from me.
And I still like to tip the binmen due to their helpfulness back when I moved into my house when they
got rid of the piano that had
inexplicably appeared on my front path and that
the council wouldn't touch.
Plus I worry that if I don't give them money that they will strew rubbish and shit all over the front of my house. My middle-class guilt and fear means my bin men get four pounds a year each more than they would otherwise. It's a tax on being privileged and it's a tax I am happy to pay.
So I nipped out into the cold morning, my bare feet stinging on the cold, damp paving slabs and hallooed to one of those proud working men and gave him a twenty quid note.
"Happy Christmas" he said, doffing his cockerney cap and doing a little Dick Van Dyke dance in appreciation (some of this isn't true). My feet were cold, but my heart felt warm and my conscience felt assuaged for another twelve months.
God bless our binmen.
But not the recycling men or postmen.
And maybe Jesus could give some Malteesers to the paper boys. Just as a little gesture.
