The sunshine is beginning to stream into my bedroom. I can hear the loud chirps from a House Wren that had built a nest below my window. From my bed, I look out from my window at the heavily wooded creek behind my house. I think, how fortunate I am to live is such a wonderful neighborhood as Rosedale. This section of Austin is filled with quiet streets lined with quaint older houses that have been carefully remodeled and retain the charm of days gone by.
It is time to get up, but I think I'll just lie here a little longer. I doze off for just one more little dream.
Suddenly, I hear the squealing brakes of a large truck in front of the house. I realize that it is Friday. "Oh no!", I say aloud. "Garbage collection day!!" My serene morning is shattered by the realization that I'm missing a vital city service not once, but twice now.
A week ago, my garbage collector started coming very early in the morning. Usually, I had a grace period of a couple of hours to get my garbage can out to the curb by say, 9 am. Wrong!
Therefore, I miss the garbage collection two weeks ago. No problem, I'll just stuff down this week's refuse extra hard and get two week's worth, in one haul. The large plastic container now bulges on the sides and the lid will not close completely. And talk about ripe!
A bad result of being lazy is that you tend to assume things. This week, I assume that since Monday was the Memorial Holiday, the garbage collection schedule would slide back one day. Surely, I had until Saturday to get my two weeks of heavy, oozing, garbage to the curb. Wrong again!
"And don't call me Shirley", I mumbled to myself as I rolled out of bed.
I throw on my house slippers and bathrobe. Still half asleep, I run through the house, grabbing the kitchen's latest load and head for the driveway. I can hear the garbage truck stopping and starting as it reaches each neighbor's container. I always thought that there is nothing more embarrassing than running to meet the garbage man in your house slippers and bathrobe. Wrong for the third time.
As the garage door slowly opens, I can see the taillights of the big truck as it speeds out of our cul-de-sac. Expletives roll out of my mouth as my heart sinks. Having missed the garbage pickup for two weeks, I'm now in deep, . . . well, . . . smelly stuff. I decide that drastic action is in order.
I throw on a pair of cutoffs, tee shirt, cap, dark sunglasses, and go driving in the hood looking for my man. I begin driving through the north side of Rosedale. As I turn the first corner, I see that there are a few houses where the garbage hasn't been picked up yet. "Great!", I say to myself. "All I have to do is go back, get my big, heavy, oozing can and haul it up the hill and deposit it in front of someone's house for collection."
If you have you never tried to lift two weeks worth of garbage, don't do it! I strain under the load but finally get the big gray plastic box into my SUV. It won't fit standing up so I have to lay it sideways. "What IS that horrible smell? Oh ya, it's those chicken packages from that May 22nd BBQ."
I drive back to the street where I saw the full containers. To my surprise, the garbage driver has already emptied them. "Man, this guy works fast!" On the next street, I see some full containers. I stop in front of a lady's house that has a full garbage bin. She's sitting outside watering her flowers while sitting in a lawn chair.
I approach the lady in the most unintimidating fashion I can, with my hands in my pockets. "Hi", I say sheepishly. "I'm your neighbor from down the way." I scratch my eyes while my voice breaks from lack of coffee. "Can I leave my garbage can in front of your house for collection? I missed him this morning." This otherwise nice lady gave me the worst dirty look I've ever seen. One might think that I had asked her to wash my soiled under shorts. "Never mind," I say and quickly jog back to my car.
Now, I'm getting desperate. I go looking for my man. He's disappeared. "Oh dear, this street's already been picked up, too", I grumble under my breath. Panic begins to set in. I feel my grip on the steering wheel get tighter as I frantically drive up and down each street. "What IS that horrible smell? Oh ya, the old bananas that went bad two days ago."
Finally, I see him! I drive ahead of the truck on 47th street as he heads for Burnet Road. I find a vacant house with no can in front of it and quickly pull into the driveway. I unload my oozing can beside the curb. I look up just in time to see the driver staring at me. He has obviously encountered garbage stalkers like myself before. The driver has my can "pegged" and SKIPS MY CONTAINER . . . deliberately!! As he drives by, he gives me a dirty look worse than the one from the lady in the lawn chair.
OMG! Now, what do I do? I'm a marked man. The driver knows what I look like, plus what car I'm driving. Frantically, I load the heavy, large, oozing can back into my SUV. My clothes are starting to take on the odors of the garbage.
I haven't felt this embarrassed since my neighbor's little girl once saw me watering the lawn without wearing a shirt and said, "Mommy, look! Jay's nekkid." Coming from a 3 year old, that really hurt. I feel that I scarred this poor innocent child for life by having to view my overweight torso. No doubt, she'll carry this image into old age having a positive recollection of what an "ugly nekkid man" looks like.
With all of my windows down, I go stalking again. There is no way I can take this load back home. There he is again, turning onto Shoalwood Avenue!! This time, I'll have to plan more carefully and go further up the street to plant my load. "What IS that smell? Oh ya, the too ripe halibut I bought from the HEB supermarket last Sunday and never cooked."
I see up ahead a house that has a ‘For Sale' sign in front. Through the open windows, I see that the place is vacant, so I pull up to the curb. Carefully, I plant the heavy, bulging, oozing load beside the curb and then drive _ block away parking near the neighborhood swimming pool. I chuckle to myself, "Now, I've got him!" I kill the engine and stare out my rear view mirror.
As I glance up, I see two women in the front yard of the house next to where I parked. They were glaring and pointing in my direction. I began to tap my foot against the side of the door as my anxiety level increases.
"Come on man," I groan. The driver that earlier seemed in such a hurry, dallied along, taking his time until he got to the area that I had staked out.
This time, the garbage driver was oblivious to my ploy and dumps the container's contents into his truck. I swear I saw the springs on his truck sag with the addition of my load.
"Halleluiah!!" I yell out loud raising my fist. "What WAS that smell? That was the smell of Victory!"
I quickly retrieve my ‘now empty can' and head back home. On the way, I pass the driver and give a friendly wave. He returned the recognition with another cold stare. I sense that he was no doubt writing down my license plate number to report me to the Solid Waste Department of the City of Austin. I know that my gloating wave will cost me garbage pickup services for the next several weeks.
I pull back into my driveway and unload the container. As I walk back to the front door, I see my neighbor George. He asks where I had been and I relay my story of stalking the garbage man. He smiles as though he knows, from past experience, what I had gone through.
"What IS that smell?", George asked.
"I gotta go," I reply.
I relay this pathetic story for any other Rosedale neighbors that might contemplate stalking their garbage man. Don't do it! Get your can out to the curb the evening before the scheduled pickup time and avoid the embarrassment I encountered this morning. It is a very humiliating feeling hiding out in the hood just because of one's lazy habits.
I feel so . . . dirty!
What IS that smell? Time to hit the showers.