Ove didn’t really care who was parked in the guest parking area, of course. But it was a question of principle.
If it said twenty-four hours on the sign, that’s how long you were allowed to stay.
What would it be like if everyone just parked wherever they liked? It would be chaos. There’d be cars bloody everywhere.
Today, thank goodness, there weren’t any unauthorized cars in the guest parking,
and Ove was able to proceed to the next part of his daily inspection: the trash room.
Not that it was really his responsibility, mind. He had steadfastly opposed from the very beginning the nonsense steamrollered through
by the recently arrived jeep-brigade that household trash “had to be separated.”
Having said that, once the decision was made to sort the trash, someone had to ensure that it was actually being done.
Not that anyone had asked Ove to do it, but if men like Ove didn’t take the initiative there’d be anarchy.
There’d be bags of trash all over the place. He kicked the bins a bit, swore,
and fished out a jar from the glass recycling, mumbled something about “incompetents” as he unscrewed its metal lid.
He dropped the jar back into glass recycling, and the metal lid into the metal recycling bin.
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