Talking trash
By: Linda McCarthy
Figure this out. Counting people and animals I live with six males. I am the only one who takes the garbage to the curb. If I don’t, it sits there another week. Every Friday morning I’m out with the men of my neighborhood doing what I consider a manly thing. It’s not what I call a fair and equitable arrangement. To make matters worse, I have that one house on the block that seems to generate more refuse than any other.
My neighbors all have two cans with tightly sealed lids. I have four oversized containers, no lids and wheels that keep falling off and rolling down the street. In addition, I have anywhere from five to seven black bags filled to the breaking point. As a family we are an ecological nightmare. You can actually hear the sanitation workers sobbing when they stop in front of my house.
This week was exceptionally bad. I’m throwing a party next month and I expect about 150 people. In preparation for the big shindig I have been ordering supplies online with a vengeance. Everything seemed to be delivered at once and I was inundated with boxes filled with that Styrofoam popcorn. I felt like I was living in a sitcom. It was everywhere. It became so statically charged that it began sticking to everything; including the dogs, the walls and the spaghetti sauce I had simmering on the stove. I passed it off as meatballs; it wasn’t too bad.
With all the effectiveness of herding kittens, I began the massive cleanup. It took two days and 14 garbage bags. Luckily they didn’t weigh much and I could carry several at a time. Unfortunately I should have left a note to that effect on top of the bags. The poor municipal worker, knowing our usual garbage patterns, steeled himself for the lift and thrust. With no weight to counter his momentum, he ended up three yards over with a torn rotator cuff.
I think I’m being sued for misrepresentation; not to mention punitive damages for physical injuries suffered and severe mental anguish. Oh well.
This brings me to the point of this whole discussion. I’ve reached a new low. As a gift for my impending anniversary I have requested two over-sized-lid-attached-mega-wheeled garbage cans. I know this is somehow wrong and I think I may need therapy. I find myself envying the neighbors with that wheeled cart that houses the containers.
There’s a voice in my head saying, "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbors garbage cans." But I can’t seem to help myself. While most normal people admire lawns or gardens I clearly have a Rubbermaid fetish.
My husband is tired of me "trying to keep up with the Jones’." Although I’m not quite sure what he means, his advice is to accept and embrace the big can I have. Besides have you ever tried to actually throw out a garbage container? I’ve tried to dispose of the old ones numerous times but I seemed doomed to own them forever. Clearly it is written in a contract somewhere that this must never happen.
I’m tired of being obsessed with trash and I admit I need help. I’ve done some initial inquires but there doesn’t seem to be a support group out there for me. Consequently, I’ll have to overcome this one on my own. It’s time to develop a new fixation. Let’s talk recyclables.
Linda McCarthy resides in Robbinsville with her husband and three children.

