So I am lounging there in bed, lazily sketching in a notebook falling asleep, when it dawns on me that it's Thursday night. That mean one thing, garbage pickup in the morning. My mind leaps to the large overflowing Rosauers bag next to the kitchen counter. Then to the fact that I will have to take out said garbage now or at some god-awful time in the morning, because Sean is out camping. Then to the more daunting and horrifying realization that with Sean gone no one is here to actually put out the garbage cans to the side of the road.
Now this may seem like a small problem, but trust me. This is a monumental task. Not that I fully realized it in the moment. At that time all I thought was: "shit, I'm going to have to do that."
Taking a cue from that morning's attempt to rise early, and its subsequent and epic failure, I decided to pull myself out of bed and complete the task of taking out the trash myself. It was what a responsible human being would do. I was responsible I would do it. If only because Sean did it every week since the giant snow storm and somehow our landlord thought this sufficient excuse to shirk his erstwhile duties. (By the way I don't think that is a good excuse. He took out the garbage every week before that snowstorm, why can't he do it now?)
I threw on some clothes, turned the house lights back on and found my cell phone (in case someone tried to attack me) and my keys (to lock my door behind me in case someone saw my momentarily empty house as sackable) and grabbed the overflowing sticky brown bagged mess of a garbage. Really this was important, I mean look at the state of this garbage! Taking a deep fortifying breathe (luckily the garbage, though full and sticky, was at least not stinky) I plunged outside in my over thick brown sweater. I ran around the corner of the porch to see if by some fair bit of fortune, someone, anyone in our apartments might have seen it in their hearts to actually pull their weight and take out the cans, but alas and alack, no. So I trudged up the other side of the 1890's mansion and found the two lonely garbage cans, twin brown squares of smelliness, sitting under the buzzing alley lamps. I opened the one that wasn't sticking a tongue of garbage at the neighbors recycle bins (we don't have recycle bins, but Sean sneaks stuff into the neighbors per out landlords instructions) and contemplated my next move.
Now our bins rest on the highest point of a very steep, rocky and crevassed slope that is difficult to walk down, let alone with two awkward brown barrels rolling behind you. Now add about 300 pounds of garbage to the equation and you have a mess...no pun intended. I just have to say that my first attempt at moving the larger of the canister failed, not because I couldn't move it, but I had failed to estimate the proper force. That thing was HEAVY! With a hefty pull of my arms and a little help at the bottom with my foot I manged to get the canister onto its wheels and mwde my way to the hill, the part where flat ground becomes the rollercoaster from hell. I had a wild moment where the can tried to wrestle out of my hands, aided and abetted by a large rock jutting from a particularly well established crevasse, before turning the can around and getting it to stop for a moment. I then had a crazy notion that I could somehow drag both of the garbage cans at the same time, but I regained sanity after moving the other one next to the first and realizing that was a one way ticket to being stampeded. The next couple minutes were ridiculously scary as I dragged the larger can behind me, feeling like a hostage being push along at gunpoint by a three hundred pound thug, until I could finally turn it around in the alley's mouth. Then I had to go back UP the alley to retrieve the other can. God I hated garbage day eve.
The other can I decided to let run in front of me, but this didn't turn out to feel any safer as it jostled and jumped along dirt sand rocks and, obviously, magical springs that made it possible to be completely airborne at certain moments. That garbage can too managed to make it to the bottom of the Hill of Absolute Terror and Certain Death, without running me over or getting away from me and killing someone. I breathed a heavy, but not too heavy, sigh of relief and, keeping my hands from touching any part of myself, jumped-ran up the steps and to my front door, I fumbled for the keys, wishing I hadn't had to touch them with greasy garbage smelling hands, and I was inside. Done and Done.
Sean, I now appreciate the hell you go through on a weekly basis, from now on I will try to remember and come help you in you Sisyphean task. Wish you were here!