I'm basically an early riser, so getting up before the garbage men is generally not a problem for me. But getting the garbage out to the curb for some reason is. Garbage days are Monday and Thursday. So every Sunday and Wednesday night as I come home from wherever I've been and pass the trash cans in the driveway on my way in, the thought crosses my mind, Hey, you should totally take the trash cans to the curb now because you will forget in the morning. But then the overconfident, lazy part of my brain retorts with, You get up at 5:00 in the blessed am, for criminey's sake, I think you can beat garbage collection and get it out before the guys come at 7:00.
Ain't necessarily so.
I'll get up in the morning and remember, but then I never quite get dressed and make it to the curb before I hear the familiar groan of the collection truck begin turning the corner and lumbering down the street.
A few days ago, as I was sipping a cup of peppermint tea and standing in the living room picture window in my bathrobe (a real treat for the neighbors), I noticed the garbage truck coming up the street. Oh well, I'm NOT going to race to get dressed and try and beat them, and I'm not going out there in my bathrobe... so I guess the garbage can wait until next Thursday. So I just stood there and watched them.
The guy walking alongside the truck looked at the trashcan-less curb and then glanced up at the house and saw me in the window. He looked at me and then looked back at the garbage (which is not more than four feet from the curb but inside the confines of our yard and therefore past the line of demarcation that the garbage collectors will cross) and shot me back a questioning glance. I simply shrugged my shoulders and raised my palm to face the ceiling. He laughed, shook his head and then walked back into my driveway and pulled the garbage bags out of the trash cans and put them on the truck.
Ain't necessarily so.
I'll get up in the morning and remember, but then I never quite get dressed and make it to the curb before I hear the familiar groan of the collection truck begin turning the corner and lumbering down the street.
A few days ago, as I was sipping a cup of peppermint tea and standing in the living room picture window in my bathrobe (a real treat for the neighbors), I noticed the garbage truck coming up the street. Oh well, I'm NOT going to race to get dressed and try and beat them, and I'm not going out there in my bathrobe... so I guess the garbage can wait until next Thursday. So I just stood there and watched them.
The guy walking alongside the truck looked at the trashcan-less curb and then glanced up at the house and saw me in the window. He looked at me and then looked back at the garbage (which is not more than four feet from the curb but inside the confines of our yard and therefore past the line of demarcation that the garbage collectors will cross) and shot me back a questioning glance. I simply shrugged my shoulders and raised my palm to face the ceiling. He laughed, shook his head and then walked back into my driveway and pulled the garbage bags out of the trash cans and put them on the truck.
I'm not sure what I've done to gain the garbage collectors' favor, but in the past two weeks, every time we've forgotten to take the trash cans to the curb, they've come into the yard and taken the bags themselves. And even when we haven't placed the garbage in easily transported, tied up bags, but rather dumped all our garbage directly into the trash can, the dude still comes into the yard, unhooks the bungee cord that keeps the trash cans from blowing away on windy days and upends the trash into the truck then puts the can back.
I wonder if, with a little bit of work, I could train them to clean my house?
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