Our trash man comes on Thursdays. Usually about 5:00 a.m. Vince and I have decided that our guy must be mad at the world and he is of the opinion that if he has to be up working at that time of morning, then no one is going to sleep. He turns on the crusher and he crushes and grinds and crushes some more. Then he backs up for some reason. We’re the only one on this end of the street who uses this company. Maybe the driver is hoping we switch to another company so his day can have one less pickup. Who knows why but he wakes us up every Monday morning. We put the trash out on Sunday night. I have this hangup about the trash can sitting out in front of the house. The first one out the door is supposed to move it around to the back side of the house. Sometimes it’s me out with Speck; most of the time Vince totally forgets but Chad leaves the house by 8:00 most Mondays so about 80% of the time, Chad moves it. But, if about mid-day I look out and the trash can is still in front of the house, well . . I get that feeling I get when someone comes to the house and finds me napping on the sofa, or the doorbell rings at 10 a.m. and I still have on my pajamas. The pajama thing rarely happens because I shower the minute I get out of bed . . assuming we have hot water which we should have for 11 months and 29 days until the heating elements go out again.
I hate seeing a trash can in front of a house . . anyone’s house. There are some people who don’t care and I drive by some of those houses. I want to stop my car, knock on their door and say . . What’s the deal? Have you no pride? But, right before I pull into their driveway, I see 3 broken down lawn mowers, 2 bags of trash that a varmit has torn open and scattered the contents, a rusted shell of a bicycle missing a front tire, and then I realize that there’s no need to ask if they have no pride. The trash container in front of their house doesn’t bother them one bit. I say a little prayer that I never let my trash can sit in front of my house for more than a few minutes after the garbage man has passed my house.
Yesterday, I was looking for an address online. I didn’t know if it was left or right past my street and instead of going the wrong way and wasting 1/4 cup of gasoline, I decided to look online. I had no idea you could see up close and personal the front of your house. This is what I saw for my house! We’re definitely living here because in the Google picture, I can see my mums on the front porch! I cannot blame this picture on the former owners of the house.
Oh, my goodness. I broke out in a sweat. I called Vince downstairs. He noticed nothing wrong with this picture. Who do I call to get the picture of my house updated? On further examination, I began to feel nauseaus. The shadows tell me it’s late afternoon. I’m sure we were out of town! I’m sure we were all gravely ill and couldn’t make it outside to bring that trash can around back. Or . . maybe it isn’t even Monday! Maybe some cruel person brought the trash can around front just so it would be in the picture and for the rest of my life, if I Google my own address, I’d see this horrendous site! There has to be a logical explanation.
Or, how about this one? Trash Can . . BE GONE!
The good news is, I don’t Google my own address very often and I doubt anyone else does either so had I not shown the picture on the blog, very few; probably no one else; would ever have known that my trash can is sitting smack dab in front of my house for the entire world to see. But you can bet that Monday morning, for the rest of my life (or at least as long as my trash man comes on Monday morning), when I hear that noisy trash man out there, I will hop out of bed with a smile on my face, race out the door and move that blasted can around to the back of the house.