Garbage Day

One person’s journey to get it right.

My eyes are open. Mind clicks on.

Tuesday. 6 AM. 

Garbage day. 

Or Recycling day?

Either way.

I didn’t put it out. I always forget.

I can look it up quick.

Grab my phone. Didn’t charge it.

There’s no time. The truck is coming. 6:03.

I missed the pickup for the past six weeks.

Today. I need to do this. Today.

I’ll just look at what the neighbours put out. 

Run to the window. Look at the curb. Blue bins. Winding round the street.

I’m glad I have functioning people on the street helping. I can never get this right.

Race to the kitchen to gather plastic scraps and chicken finger boxes. They’ve accumulated from a week of microwave and toaster oven dieting. They need to go outside. Maybe clearing out the garbage will make space for healthier eating habits. It’s happened before!

CCRRRRSSSSSSSST.

The his of Hydraulic brakes and crunching snow.

Truck.

I run to the back. No time for coat or shoes. Which lay scattered across and under my thrift store furniture. I’d never them in time.

Outside, I have piles of garbage and recycling overflowing from the bins to the yard.

Six weeks, I’ve missed it.

Why’s it so hard? I can never get this right. 

Until today.

The neighbours have blue boxes down the street. 

I hear the steam of the truck and the jangling of bottles only two houses down.

Get to the front. Your day starts now.

I bare hand crush the towering recycle pile - cramming all the garbage deep into the bin.

I spill sticky liquids on pre-stained pyjamas.

It’ll be fine, I feel it.

The truck has come and it’s an opportunity. I’ll do my laundry too. No problem. A productive day starts one bin at a time.

I stumble over sticks and trip through snow. Bins wheels locking on the ice.

It almost topples. I save the day.

Down the steps. To the curb.

Just in time to see the truck pull up. 

“WAIT!” I yell.

Catching ears of the orange-vested city worker peering at my empty curb. They hold up their hand to stop the driver from moving along.

Thank God. I made it.

I scanned the truck for that blue triangle of arrows.

Blue means recycling.

Instead, I see a green-yellow logo.

I smell used tissue and old meat. 

It’s garbage. 

And I see all my neighbours further down the block pulling out garbage bags from behind their blue bins and their back yards - they had hidden them from view of my window. I look up the block and see neighbours bringing full blue bins back to their garages. Jangling bottles along the way.

They’re all looking and laughing at me. They’re sending air high-fives.

Air high-fives down the block. Laughter swarming the air. 

I look at the garbage man.
I plead, “I’ll be back with the garbage.”

He shrugs.
“Better luck next week.”

I’m standing there with broken glass and broken dreams in a blue bin.

Adrenaline drooping.

Hands coated in fructose-soaked garbage liquid.

I realize how cold it is without a coat.

How cold life is when you can never throw anything away.

The ice melts beneath exposed feet. 

I look at my neighbour. Just a few feet away handing his garbage bag to the orange-vested city worker.

My neighbour is poised tall in pajama pants and a parka. He’s in his forties. He was always the first to shovel snow, and but the garbage out, and mow the lawn. He crosses his arms. Looks at me. He’s smiling.

He starts chanting:
“Got you! You piece of crap!
Got you! You piece of crap!
Garbage day! Garbage day!
Think for yourself today.”

The swarm of laughter grows around me. Jeering cackles cloud all my senses. They’re all chanting in unison now:

“Got you! You piece of crap!
Got you! You piece of crap!
Garbage day! Garbage day!
Think for yourself today.”

It’s 6:07 AM. The coordination and dedication of this prank astounds me. How could they pull it all together? How did they even rehearse this? How did they know I’d been relying on them?

Every week I counted on them and they came through.

Now I have no one but myself. And piles of garbage.

I throw my head down and trace back my barefoot footprints to the backyard. Keeping eyes focused on the ground and away from the still-continuing chants.

I leave the bin where I found it.

I go inside and microwave a burrito, toss the garbage on the counter.

Garbage next week.

I swear to myself I’ll remember. I’m all I have now.

I’ll write a note. I’ll get a calendar. I’ll charge my phone.

I could do it now, I decide to do it later.