April 19, 2007

-- I missed the garbage truck this morning. Thursday is Trash Day here, and I usually drag our cans to the curb after I take the youngest Secret to school. Since it’s usually not collected until the afternoon, this is a system that’s worked well for me. 

Some of the neighbors put out their drums of nastiness the previous night, but animals get into it. I told you about the time I looked out our front window and saw a massive white dog strutting up the middle of the street with a full-on Thanksgiving turkey carcass in his mouth. I can’t have that.

It’s often windy here as well, and shit starts flying around. I was once nearly decapitated by a pizza box (I had to bust out with some ancient Kung Fu techniques to get out of the way of it), and several times I’ve been driving and an airborne Tide bottle, or whatever, comes sailing through the air and crashes violently into my quarter panel.

So I’ve developed a Trash Day routine, in an attempt to avoid such things. And it’s been highly successful, until today.

This morning I was sitting in the living room talking to Toney, and having my second cup of good ol’ Eight O’Clock bean coffee, when I felt a low rumble in my sternum, and heard loud Scranton-talk off in the distance. The crap??

Then there it was, the maggot-masher -- at 6:45 am. I watched helplessly as a guy dropped off the side of the truck and emptied our neighbors’ trash. I sat paralyzed, and saw the same man lift a can high above his head like King Kong, and hurl it into the middle of our neighbor’s driveway. (I knew they did that!) Much laughter ensued, the rumbling started up again, and they were gone.

And now we’re going to have to hang onto our garbage for another week. By next Thursday our garage will smell like an open grave, and there will be trash bags stacked up with various sauces and gravies pressed against the insides, wanting desperately to come out and play. Grrrr…

But, at least it’s not as bad as it was in California. Out there we had one big can on wheels (known as a wheely bin), and that’s what you had to work with. They’d only take what could fit inside that thing, with the lid completely closed. If the lid was lifted a bit, they’d leave your crap sitting there. 

There was also a weight limit, 75 pounds I think, and their trucks were apparently equipped with a scale of some sort. If you happened to have 76 pounds of garbage that week, well, you’re out of luck, sucker.

Those assholes were on high-alert for reasons not to pick up your trash. I was in a constant state of aggravation because of it. They had little pre-printed explanations that they’d stick to the lid of your can, telling how you’d violated the intricate garbage code that week. I’d see the bright green card as I pulled into the driveway after work, and that was that. Another evening ruined.

Because of all this, a Garbage Underground emerged. Various neighbors began helping each other out, on the sly. No doubt it was against the rules, but if someone had been out of town for a few days, or whatever, and found themselves with extra room in their bin, they’d invite others to fill it. So we spread it around, and utilized every available square inch of garbage space.

It takes a village.

When I was in grade school a teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. Being a smart-assed little prick, even then, I answered, “garbage man.” This made the teacher mad, and she called my mother at work. 

My mother was always getting called at work, because of something I’d said or done. But this time she flew off the handle. “It was a joke!” she hollered into the telephone. “Aren’t you familiar with the concept of jokes??” 

She still talks about that one, as well as the time I smeared Elmer’s Glue all over a toilet seat. Those are two that she found funny. Other such calls? Not so much.

Yeah, I was making a joke. But Toney knows a woman whose husband travels to Staten Island, NY everyday, where he’s employed as a trash collector. And his salary is reportedly $80,000! That’s one hell of a commute, but shit… I might have to give the man a call. 

My great fear, though? The first thing out of his mouth would be, “Do you have a four-year college degree?” Is that irrational?

Anyway, if this update doesn’t prove that I can go on and on about almost any subject, I don’t know what will. I’m gonna turn it over to Metten now, and go fix myself a big ol’ chicken salad samlich.

See ya tomorrow.

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Last updated
01/17/12 12:12 PM

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