dear trash man,
um, yeah. i’m the girl who chased after your truck this morning, in the freezing ass cold, pushing my heavy as shit garbage can, while only wearing my pjs and flip flops. you know, the one you waved at as you laughed and sped up?
what gives, dude? you can’t give a girl a break? it is the season of giving you know. i can’t help it if my husband is out of town and wasn’t able to help me get it to the curb on time. what can i say? i overslept. but really, if he had been home it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. taking the garbage to the street appears to be one of my many chores. not that i’m bitching or anything. i am happy to do it.
anyway, maybe you don’t like christmas? maybe you’re one of those scrooge types who runs over puppies for fun and steals candy from little children.
well, what do you know about karma?
cuz dude, i would SO not want to be you. i’ve had that bitch’s wicked finger pointed in my direction on more than one occasion and let’s just say you won’t be laughing for much longer. you will however, be curled up in the fetal position in the corner and crying for your momma.
is this a threat? why heavens no. i don’t have to do anything but stand back and watch…and maybe videotape the whole thing and put it on youtube.
and the scariest part about karma? you won’t see it coming. you’ll be driving down the road, pointing and laughing at those of us who sometimes forget it’s trash day and then KABLAM! she’ll get you.
happy holidays and good luck.
oh, and i was going to give you one of my delicious, mouth watering loaves of banana nut bread as a “thank you” for your faithful trash collecting duties, but you can forget it now.
sucks to be you.
{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
I had the same thing happen once. I really think they get off on it.
My trash guy shook his head at me as I ran to the street with the can. I put a hex on him that day. He used to have long hair. Now he’s bald. I’m not saying I had anything to do with it, but I’m not saying I didn’t either.
angie,
remind me not to mess with you!
You and your karma thing. I never thought much about it until I started reading your blog. Now I catch myself from doing things that might come back to bite me on the ass.
You’ve completely freaked me out about the whole karma thing.
thanks?
In order to maybe restore your faith in the trash collector – when my youngest was 2, I would have bet money that he threw his brand new orange croc into the trash – just 1….well – I realized it right after the the guy dumped our bin.
I too ran after him and he stopped – jumped ontop with this long stick/hookey thing and went to town. He tore through trashbag after bag, wading through it like he was fishing for a prize.
He didnt find it – my littlest came running out waving it, naked except for his underoos.
I still wave like a maniac to that man…
I have an interesting question for the Shauna fans regarding trash engineers…
What is the #1 non-trash item a trash man finds amongst the “trash,” which he happily takes home?
I knew a guy who sold those trash trucks and cement mixers. He got the scoop directly from the trash truck drivers.
porn…
Commish…I’m intrigued. What could it be?
Porn is the number one guess, but no cigar. The Union of Unified Trash Engineers advises most people think porn is what would be found, but “who would throw away perfectly good porn?” he once asked retorically.
Anyway, turns out that in order to sell $25 to $30 million a year in refuse trucks/equipment, you have to dine and wine the heads of the refuse departments in your city of choice.
I was invited to one of these sell-our-truck soirées at my friends’ house, the trash-truck-selling dude.
I felt like the scene in The Godfather III, where Michael meets the heads of all the families in some fancy banquet room, only to get ambushed and shot by “that son of a bi*ch Joey Zasa!”
Stay focused…
So, as I got comfortable and started mundane chat with the burly trash crowd, we headed to the host’s man-room. Aside from the staple items found in a dude’s room, I noticed behind the bar were shelves full of all kinds of beer in a cans — just rows and rows of endless, mixed beer cans.
It was as if though he went to the liquor store and said, “Give me two of everything in the beer department.”
So, I had to ask.
“Why do you store so much beer of all kinds?”
He said.
“Friend, every since I got in the trash business, I’ve never bought beer again. Trucks collect more unopened beer cans than you can imagine. I just happend to know a guy who doesn’t drink, so he saves them for me.”
I re-directed my eyes to my drink, and thanked myself for chosing Scotch this day in lieu of beer.
Whenever the trash man disses me just because I was late, I just haul my bag back into the garage, smirking because I know soon enough, the day will come again when he get to ride the back of his truck, smelling the rotting diapers of my three kids and God only knows what else, in 115 degree heat all summer long