@ mercuryman:
If you were really obsessive-compulsive, you'd carefully snip open the end of the bag, making sure to cut into the yellow paper only and not the blue seam at the bottom.
Then you'd very meticulously up-end the bag onto exactly three sheets of newspaper, carefully lined up so all the edges meet exactly.
Then, using a #3 knitting needle and a pair of tweezers, you would sort through and organize the contents of the bag - first by type of material (lint, dead skin cells, dead dust mite fragments, sand, cat poo crumblings, dried peas (!), etc., then by size and finally by color.
Using your digital camera, you would take five photos of the sorted dirt, which you will later print out and mount on your wall along with the other 3,456 dirt-bag-contents on your bedroom wall.
Then you would gently place the Electrolux bag in the exact center of the newspaper, carefully fold one corner at a time of the newspaper over the bag, making a rectangular-shaped container.
Then you would select three rubber bands that are the exact same size, shape, color and thickness. You'd seal the newspaper sack with the rubber bands, making sure the distance between each of them is exact.
Then you would place the paper sack by your front door, making sure to lean it against the door at exactly a 21-degree angle, and exactly 2.645 inches from the left side of the door.
Then at exactly 6:55:55 a.m. the next morning, you would carry the sack out to your trash can and sit on your front porch for 5 minutes and 5 seconds waiting for the trash collecting truck to come by, as the driver is due at your house at 7 a.m. sharp.
Oh dear.
The truck is a minute and three seconds late.
Your perfectly timed and calculated routine has been irreparably impacted by the stupid truck driver. Flying into a blind rage, you go screaming out to the curb, hurl the trash can lid open, grab the newspaper sack in your enraged, trembling hands, pull off the rubber bands, tear the bag open and into a thousand little pieces.
As the bits of newspaper, Electrolux bag, filter liners and schmutz merrily rain down around you, you scream and bellow at the truck driver for being late.
The driver, terrified out of his mind, slams his rig into gear and roars off down the street in a cloud of oily diesel smoke.
You just stand there for a few seconds, quietly.
You go inside and to the telephone. You call the Trash Collection Department and report to them that the trash collector dumped trash all over your front yard, making a big huge mess that someone has to come back and clean up.
Then you write a letter to the editor, complaining about the shoddy service that City workers are providing. After counting the number of words in your letter, you carefully sign it with your special pen. You look in your box of #10 envelopes for one that is perfectly white, uncreased and with no marks or blemishes. You address the envelope, using a t-square to make sure the handwritten lines are perfectly straight. You carefully stamp the envelope, making sure there is a precisely equal distance between the stamp and the side and top of the envelope.
You walk two blocks to the corner mail drop, counting the squares in the sidewalk and on each 10th square whispering to yourself, "10."
Now THAT's obsessive-compulsive.
