A Matter of Trash

My antique triangular bracket provides a convenient way to hold up the supply pipes--the pipes fit through the nice sleeves in the back, supporting all the weight above. This probably will all be unnecessary after I get the new shower faucet assembly today, but for now I get some satisfaction in the sturdiness of my old plumbing.

Meanwhile, I hear the garbage pickup guys drive up and stop beside the pile of 50 garbage bags, which if filled with leaves and twigs would be a big enough job for them, but these heavy-duty bags are loaded with mortal and tile. My fear is that they will simply drive away without the bags after they discover what I've done, so I am peeking out the window and watching them like a scared little girl.

If I were a man, I'd go out there and take them some beers or maybe a fist full of 20-dollar bills. I'd apologize for the big pile, but I'd do it like a big man, explaining that big men do big work, etc. Instead, I'm squinting though a small opening in the curtain, craning my ears to hear. Chances are, if I did go out there, they would not be amused by me or my attempts to make things better, and very likely an argument would ensue, ending with them driving away without the bags.

And to be honest, I had put some of the lighter bags on top of the pile. Deliberate deception, I know. I hear voices but can't decipher them. Three or four men are in the crew, and they are discussing the matter. Not happy.

Then I think: why should I be sorry about this? I'd piled up the bags neatly. And isn't it their job to take the bags away? But I know the reason for my guilt. I should have gotten one of those big waste containers for the driveway, and they could have just driven it away.

Finally I heard a bag drop into the back of the truck with a loud bang, then another and then another. It only took them about 5 minutes, but it was not a happy 5 minutes. Maybe next week I'll take them some money.