I’m the trashy one in my neighborhood

Tuesday morning in my hood is trash pick up day. For some reason, in my city the trash people aren’t the most well-liked, mainly because they aren’t super accommodating and frankly they’re just plain rude.

My day began very abruptly one Tuesday morning. I had left my bedroom window open and was rudely(told you) awakened by the sound of the churning truck squeaking its rusty axles up to the curb. As I hurled an explicative under my breath and turned over in bed, it hit me. Snap! I forgot to leave the trash cans out the night before.

I bolted out of bed, retainer in mouth(I’m 40), wiping the drool from my chin,  hair in a feather duster pony tail on top of my scalp, red blemishes/white zit cream on face(again, I’m 40) and a Kliban Cat t-shirt from 1986 with cats dressed in leotards, leg warmers and head bands.

I  furiously raced out the door when I realized I wasn’t wearing any pants. Back up the stairs I went, jumping into the nearest bottoms I could find–flaming hot turquoise flannel pajamas with black and white kitties sporting  oversized heads who look like they are on LSD.

Shoes, shoes! Where the hell were they? I was wearing thick sweater socks, black and white stripes with embroidered flowers on each side but didn’t want to get them dirty. There was no time to take them off. The closest shoes were bright white flip flops by the front door. On they went. The Geisha look did not serve me well.

I flung the door open to find the trash truck pulling away, its screech was deafening. No wonder the trash guy was wearing earmuffs. I ran with as much vigor as I could muster, hurdling over the hedges in my front yard.

“Wait!! Pleath thop!” I begged, my retainer lisping any chance I had at words. No luck, he was almost two doors down. He could not leave our street or it would be hours, even days before he decided to come back and our trash was brimming.  I needed it to be gone.

Suddenly, the adrenaline took over and the next thing I knew, I was galloping across my front lawn to the side yard that houses the bins.  Pulling two huge trash cans behind me with the force of a sled dog, nothing was gonna stop me.

Nothing but the hot new neighbor who is about 10 years younger and had all the ladies in the neighborhood talking. Some admitted they couldn’t even look him in the eye because he was so devilishly handsome.

Unfortunately, that was no longer an option for me, as I stood there eyeball to eyeball with him. I had to stop since I almost mowed him down as he opened the door to his car.

Perplexed he asked, “Rough morning?” those blue eyes like earth marbles, hairdo that was nicer than mine at the moment. “Yeth!” I answered. “Thorry, but I can’t thalk. I hath to get tha trath guy bethore he ethcapes!” I managed to leap over three of the next house’s recycling bins, my trash cans rattling, barely clinging to the sidewalk and I just didn’t look back.  I only heard a huge laugh and a “Yeah, I can see that.”

In the end victory was mine, but not at my own expense. I found the trash guy, five houses down, but gave up dragging the cans at the third house. By the time I reached him, I was dripping with sweat when he agreed to reverse the truck and pick up our trash.

As soon as he got in his truck, out of eye shot, I shot my hands up in a huge “V”, my legs wobbled out the touchdown dance. In that moment, it was all worth it. The bad outfit, the retainer, the zits, all of it. Until the hot neighbor drove by, rolled down the window and said, “Glad things are going better now.”

Crap.

–Trash gone but still Uncool

Advertisement