This a story I wrote from one of the challenges I set myself. I had randomly generated a list of twenty words to write from, and a couple of consecutive ones were ‘needless’ and waste’. Needless stumped me, but put together with the next word on the list, ‘waste’, I had an idea:
I don’t know why I didn’t reply, why I didn’t stand up for myself, maybe I was too weary – it had been a trying day, or maybe I knew I couldn’t win, or maybe I’d heard it all before, whatever – I didn’t reply. I just stood in a gloomy glaze while she went on and on.
“Absolutely needless!” she exclaimed for about the seventy-fifth time. “An absolutely needless waste!”
Next thing I knew she’d be telling me it could feed a hundred starving children somewhere in the world. I did later wonder if she was on something, or maybe she had an infuriating ‘ism’ which took hold of her when she was in this sort of mood.
Usually I am the person most opposed to waste and will go to ridiculous lengths to not throw anything away which could possibly be of use – not just food but anything. I had once used Brussels sprout stalks – sliced and fried them to make sprout stalk chips and needless to say no-one ate them. And then there was the burnt Jerusalem artichoke soup – the pan had caught while I was doing something else and I foolishly had tried to rescue the artichokes, cutting off the burnt bits – luckily I did taste it before I served it and realised it was pretty disgusting. Even so, I put it in the fridge imagining I might be able to resuscitate it – in the end it went mouldy and I accepted defeat.
So to accuse me of needless waste – well, that was way off the mark.
“So what have you done with it?” she demanded. She was running out of steam with telling me off, but still wanted to prove her point.
I pointed to the bin without a word – I realised that if I opened my mouth at all I would say something I might regret.
“Right, so you’d better get it out, see if anything is salvageable and make something presentable!” she waved her hand imperiously. “Wasteful! It’s so wasteful!
“Honestly it’s beyond salvation – “ I began but she took such a deep breath, her face becoming even redder that I thought she might literally explode and what a hell of a clean up that would be, and could I be done for manslaughter?
I seized the bin and pulled out the green biodegradable food safe bag which contained every peel, root, fatty bit, bony bit, mouldy bit and inedible parts of fish, flesh, fowl and veg which I had discarded.
I found a big bowl and emptied it as she stood there whittling on. I found more bowls and separated the waste into fishy bits, meaty bits, veg – it was crazy, who would want carrot tops and tails smelling and tasting of kipper? Who would want rendered bacon fat with essence of grapefruit skin and parsley stalks?
What had caused her to erupt was the pheasant carcasses. I had been tempted to make a stock, but I’d been running out of time. I’d thought about bagging them and sticking them in the fridge to use later, but it was late and I thought I might forget them or whatever – I’d chucked them in the bin.
I’d hoped she’d leave me to it, but no, she stood over me as if I was an inexperienced kid on placement. She said nothing except to tut and sigh and mutter.
I wonder now why I hadn’t just told her I wasn’t going to do it, washed my hands, grabbed my things and left – left the kitchen, left the hotel, left the job.
Lois Elsden 