Today is trash day. Thankfully, they pick up our trash on Tuesday, which gives me the weekend to gather up all the garbage from around the house in one place. Most of the time, I remember, and have not had to have the awkward dash to the front of the driveway in my jammies, screaming “I’m awake, here’s my garbage! Please take it!”

Our garbage company, which one must contract with individually where I live, is thankfully quite nice and understanding. They do a very nice job, and even provide us with a giant waste can specially labelled for their company, which I imagine is designed with their trucks in mind for ease of dumping and disposal. The name of the game is to have one’s hands as clean as possible, considering what you’re doing.

When we moved here, we took many a gamble, among them was whether or not to take the garbage can with us from our old house. In our old neighborhood, we were left to our own devices to figure out an appropriate garbage can situation, one which lead to some more interesting choices. Some folks abandoned the can idea altogether, leaving huge piles of white kitchen bags at the end of the street. Ours was a nicer can, a large green plastic device with wheels and a snap over handle which held the lid in place. Because it worked so well for our needs, we decided to take it with us, the straw breaking the camel’s back when the new buyer started to be a pain the butt. “Eff her,” we thought, “we’re keeping the garbage can.”

But now, we’ve been here five years. She has undoubtedly moved on herself, and now we’re stuck with a can that we no longer have use for. Which brings me to the living in suburbia conundrum: How do I throw away a trash can? Even labeling it “TRASH” would still, perhaps be unclear. At one point, I will have to write:

 TRASH, no seriously, PLEASE PICK UP

I mean, yes it is a trash can, and no, I no longer want it.

PLEASE REMOVE! kthanxbai!

Yeah, that will go over well with the incredibly nice guys who already put up with all the other ridiculous nonsense that goes on in our neighborhood. As if the overzealous note would curry any kind of favor with the type of person who probably has no idea about the cats on the internet, but simply wants to get a hot shower after a long day of hauling other people’s crap into a huge pile downstate.

When we moved here, I noticed how flat the land was. How interesting, I thought, to see a large mountain growing out of seemingly nowhere along the outskirts of town. It wasn’t until I saw the large green garbage trucks milling around throughout that I figured out where our topography came from. It takes glaciers thousands of years to change the mountain tops into rubble, but just five short years to build a giant garbage mountain.