“That’s o.k.,” I said, “It’s still really cold outside.” This statement backs up my basic philosophy that winter serves only ONE good purpose...to make sure my garbage stays frozen.
Sometime during the following “Second Week of Rot,” raccoons, opossum, and rats lined up outside my house, on their hind legs with little knives and forks in their “rodenty” paws, begging for access to the fermenting chicken carcass and fridge-rejected vegetables stored in “Dumpster from Hell,” I dreamt.
“YIKES!!” I awoke the next garbage morning to the sound of the sanitation truck pulling away, while my dumpster stood rumbling with noxious gases still in my garage. I raced down the street in my pajamas, pulling the 90-gallon beast like a mad ox towing an 800 lb. plow, calling “Come Back, PLEEASE!” Fred (this time blameless) was out of town.
On the third week, things got even worse. The recent warm temperatures coaxed “All Things Wicked and Rotten” to spawn inside my trash container. Fly larvae spontaneously multiplied, came to life and buzzed menacing. There were nightmare noises coming from INSIDE the bin and around my house there was a green glow like a 1980s CRT screen.
“I missed our trash pick-up, is there anything I can do?” I asked our public works clerk.
“Yes. Wait until next Thursday.”
“But it smells!!” I cried.
I did find a few options:
Plan A.: With the power lines marked by power, water and gas personnel, and toxic waste suits donned, we would have to dig in secret, by night, like a grave-yard worker...or a suited-up ground hog, and bury it.
Plan B.: Take it to another area of the village that has a Tuesday pick up, find a friendly person who wouldn’t mind having “Putrid” at the end of their driveway for the day, and then retrieve it later, hopefully “Maggot-free”.
This morning, seagulls swooped above me as I pushed the dumpster, now swirling with flies like a cyclone, to the road wearing gloves and a scarf over my mouth. The sight of the garbage truck driving towards me made me fall to my knees and weep. As its gigantic arm poised to accept my offering, I blew the driver kisses.
I bet he gets that a lot.