Bin workers face rats and missiles as pay dispute rumbles on

“Many of the bins have lost their lids, which means rainwater presses down on the rubbish and makes it heavier.” This, in turn, can cause the little round stoppers on the base of the units to come loose and then drop off completely. “That’s how the rats get in,” says Chris.

Within a few seconds though, we discover that rats are the least of their problems today. As the contents of the Taylor unit disappear into the churn, suddenly a missile comes spinning out, missing Colin’s head by inches. He stoops to pick it up. It’s an empty - but fully-intact – Irn Bru bottle.

If someone were to throw a large bottle at your head with full force from a few feet away, at the very least you’d be knocked unconscious and be hospitalised with a large wound. Now imagine the damage that might be cause when this projectile is hurled at you at a velocity many times that a human can produce.

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I can’t quite believe what I’ve just seen and ask if this is a common occurrence. Obviously, the glass bottle shouldn’t have been in the household waste bin. Chris and his colleagues will tell you though, that very few people give a flying f*ck about what goes where.

Protective headgear might have absorbed the impact but its simply impossible to imagine these men wearing such equipment on a long shift in baking heat, in which they’ll each be expected to empty 100 or so of these units.

With the pay dispute reaching an expected settlement today some ignorant and wearily familiar insults have been lobbed at the refuse-collectors. When they’d threatened strike action during Glasgow’s Cop26 two years ago, the Council leader, Susan Aitken had accused union leaders of deploying the language of the far right when they’d pointed out the appalling condition of some of Glasgow’s streets. It was a desperately ignorant attack by a senior politician who has presided over Glasgow city centre’s decade-long slide into decrepitude.

Some of Ms Aitken’s fellow citizens have been downright callous about the refuse workers’ pay claims. “You should have stuck in at school,” is one of the more printable insults hurled at them for seeking a modest 4% increase on an hourly rate of less than £13.

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Such attitudes reveal a lack of understanding about the complexities of this job and its vital importance in keeping the rest of us safe and free from disease and illness. During Covid, these men risked their lives every day to maintain the cleanliness and health of Glasgow’s most intensely populated neighbourhoods. While the rest of us kept our distance from each other to protect our health these men were actively risking their own health to keep the streets clean. Yet, the UK Government didn’t think this qualified them for the £500 Covid payment that the other emergency services received.

Around the corner from McIntyre Street where Colin had his brush with mortality, is a little pathway leading up to the footbridge over the M8 motorway that levelled this old working-class district. On our way down to it, we pass the Grade-A listed Savings Bank of Glasgow which stands as a reminder of Anderston’s civic grandeur. The civic panjandrums would have demolished this as well, if they’d been allowed to. Or just burnt it.

We come to two brick shelters, each containing several bins of multi-coloured, sustainable usage. In here though, it becomes clear that the different colours have become entirely redundant. You might as well have made them all tartan.

The bins are almost buried under mounds of rubbish containing the flora and fauna of neglect and abandonment: two sofas; the discarded innards of what seems to have been a washing machine; a small trampoline; two chairs; a couple of sponge mattresses turning putrid yellow in the sun and rain and multiple cardboard furniture wrappings. A slogan has been painted on the outside wall: “Did ye, aye?” It’s an appropriate response to the Council’s attitude to the bin-workers.

Years ago, households gathered their waste in one bin only. Now it’s grey bins and blue bins for recycling, a green bin for domestic waste; a purple bin for your glass and the brown bin that comes with a £50 permit for garden waste.

The back courts of the city’s tenements have only a domestic waste bin and a blue bin. To have the entire spectrum would be brutal. You simply couldn’t move them up all up and down stairs.

“A massive challenge we faced was when they brought the food waste in to tenements. It was vile, and I mean vile. Some of the food waste had been lying for months. Some of the boys when they first started were hauling these bins down the tenement steps and when any of them tipped over they’d be covered in it. Some of the conditions they go into are atrocious.

These men work 10-and-a-half-hour shifts. Each shift is like three army marine workouts and over the decades it takes its toll. When these men get to their 50s and 60s the task of hauling 100 bins a day begins to threaten their health. Once, they might have been moved to less physically demanding roles within the sector in recognition at least of their decades-long service keeping Glasgow safe and clean.

In an era of unremitting cost-cutting such roles are no longer available and local authorities stand accused of exploiting these older workers in a cynical attempt to save money. They can retire at 55, but should they choose to do so, they must take a 25% cut to your pensions.

Chris cites the recent case of a 65-year-old working in Gardner Street in Partick, one of the steepest streets in the city. “He’d never pulled a bin in his life as he’d been redeployed from the parks where he’d driven vehicles carrying lawnmowers and spare parts and transporting park workers around the city.

“Both sides of Gardner Street have spiral staircases from top to bottom. I was soon warned by the crew that this bloke was about to take a heart attack. His manager’s attitude was appalling. He effectively told me that if our colleague didn’t want to do this then he could get paid off today.

When these men get to into their 50s and 60s, they’re literally expected to work until they drop. “We used to look out for them,” says Chris, “now they’re just abandoned.

Both he and some of the men he represents have seen society’s attitudes to refuse collection deteriorate. Why is this, I ask. Aren’t we all supposed to have become more health and safety conscious and more aware of our environmental responsibilities?

“The problem here is a severe lack of proper communication with the public. Everyone’s become complacent. It’s the broken window effect. If it’s not fixed people will keep smashing it. That’s what’s happening here. We’ve become a throwaway culture.

Then there’s the ignorance and lack of appreciation of the complexities of the job from some residents. They’re only concerned with getting their bins emptied and don’t care how it happens. They don’t want our vehicles reversing down narrow street and perhaps chewing up the sides of the grass and demand that the men walk a few hundred extra yards to empty their bins.”

On the other side of the city, 50-year-old Gerry is preparing for a 6.30 start the next morning driving around some of the city’s most challenging streets. He doesn’t mind the rats too much and expects to encounter 10-15 of them on an average day. He loves the brutal camaraderie of the crews but gets dismayed by some public perceptions and behaviour. “It’s when you get to a group of bins and find that they’re empty because people have just chucked their rubbish on the ground around them.”