Trash Talk

Friday is trash day around these parts. And boy is it ever welcome.

Since Lauren was born, we haven't ever used a diaper genie for her disposable diapers, instead choosing to just put them directly into the big trash can in the garage. It saves on one more plastic bag to buy and throw away, plus the hassle with changing out the liners is forgone. It's just easier without the genie, in my opinion. But what that means is that our large trash can in the garage becomes quite foul by the end of the week - or by day 2 during the hot summer months. Considering that we don't have much in the way of actual trash, as we recycle most things, food garbage is the main component in our trash bin. Garbage + Dirty Diapers = A Pure Terror of Scent. As in, walking past the trash can to get to the car makes me want to fall down and gag and scream at the same time. Definitely not heavenly.

Many times on trash day, I've snuck a look out the door as the trash truck comes rumbling down our street, waiting to see the reaction of the garbage collector - surely our can is the stinkiest he's ever encountered. I wait for him to make a face or fall over dead in the street when hit in the face by the odor of this household's refuse. Surprisingly, he doesn't even seem to notice. I've decided that sanitation engineers must go through extensive training so as not to be susceptible to the certain painful death which would await them from the stench they encounter on a daily basis. This is the only reasonable explanation as to why they can endure the awful garbage cans all over the city. Especially ours.

It was pouring down rain a few Friday mornings ago when I noticed that our across-the-street neighbor's trash cans had been washed down to the dead end by the gushing water at the edge of the street, and spilled their contents along the way. Trash was everywhere. It wasn't a terrible mess - the bags were still intact, but a few large things that hadn't been bagged were strewn about. Not to mention the can itself was almost hidden in the underbrush at the end of the road. The garbage collector had already dumped our terrifyingly stinky trash can and was setting to work gathering the cans of our neighbors when I realized that he probably wouldn't notice the missing trashcan, nor would he be required to gather any of the unbagged things. Plus, like I mentioned before, it was pouring. I suddenly felt bad for both him and my neighbors - him for having to deal with such a mess, if he chose to, and the neighbors because what if they came home to leftover, sodden trash that wasn't collected all because of a freak rainstorm?

Before I could think it through all the way, I dashed outside and began picking up what I could. We have wonderful neighbors, and I know they'd have done the same for us if something similar had happened. As I ran around in the pouring rain, I hoped the collector wouldn't drive away before I could alert him to my task. I thought he'd appreciate the help during the deluge, but I also didn't want to have him leave before all the trash had been gathered. Thankfully, he seemed grateful - not frustrated at having to pause in the middle of the rainy street to pick up trash that, contractually speaking, he didn't have to pick up. Holding my breath each time I approached the rear of the truck, I wondered just how bad that thing would smell. But I wasn't dumb enough to breathe freely and find out. The trash collector and I exchanged a few words around the noise of the rain and the compactor, and that was the end of it. I ran back inside to dry myself off.

(Believe me when I say that I am no angelic neighbor. We have screaming kids in the back yard, grass that grows to frightening levels before it gets mowed, a front garden in a disarray of weeds and dead plants - I often am afraid to know what the neighborhood might think of us. And I'm not telling you this story to get accolades for a deed well-done; my neighbors never knew this happened and I'd be embarrassed for them to find out, because then I'd face the task of accepting praise or thanks - and for some strange reason, these things intimidate me. Rather, I wanted to illustrate how rough I think it must be to be a garbage collector - especially when faced with households like ours which provide exceptionally disturbing levels of olfactory abuse - as well as set the scene for a post later this week - The Day We Forgot About Trash Day. *shudder*)

I can only pray that I'll never get that close to the stinky underbelly of public services, ever again. God bless sanitation engineers.

What an awful job, eh?