The bags on the landing

In a building in Mansoura, the rubbish goes out the same way every night. Each flat leaves one bag on the landing, everything mixed together, for the man who collects it before dawn. At the bottom of the stairs he spends an hour pulling the plastic and the paper out by hand.

One family on the third floor starts keeping two bags. It is a small nuisance. Two bins in a narrow kitchen, one more habit to remember, an extra minute each evening. They do it because it makes his morning a little better, and for no other reason.

The neighbours have a reason for not doing the same, and it is the one most of us use most of the time. It is easier not to.

Ease is a poor reason to make things slightly worse for somebody else, and it is the most common one there is. People will go a long way for work they are proud of, right up to the point where it becomes awkward. Then the easy way wins, nearly every time.

But habits travel. The second floor notices. The collector starts leaving two empty bags at each door. Within a few months the building has a way of doing things, and the family that started it is no longer doing anything unusual.

That is the part worth holding on to. The awkward thing, done by the few who care, slowly becomes the normal thing. And once it is normal, it is the easy thing for everyone who comes after.