i am fascinated, time and again, by my garbagemen. they’ve taken on the role of old-school catholic nuns – strict with their rules, calling me out in front of everyone, and trying to teach me using a tough love approach, though they use ink rather than chalk as their medium of choice, and rap my knuckles with pens rather than wooden rulers.  

i am always amazed, that for some reason, there are times when they see fit to stop on their route and write me a note, leaving sticky notes on top of my bins. these notes tell me what i’ve done wrong: bins too close together, wrong item in the wrong bin, green bin to the left of the blue bin, trash not in alphabetical order, and god knows what else, a myriad of my garbage sins.   

i find it hilarious that they will take the time to stop and write me these notes rather than just moving a bin over 8.5 inches if need be, taking the trash, and going on with their day. no, instead, they leave it full and with a note atop, promising to be back the next week at the appointed hour to attempt to pick it up again, when my mistake has been corrected. i imagine, at that point they figure i will have done my penance and they will have forgiven me my sins and they are willing and able help me to dispose of my trash, so that i can start anew with a clean slate once again. these guys are all forgiving and have no limit to trying to teach me to do better, and i plan to give them a lovely pen set for christmas this year. 

 I lived through the garbage. I might as well dine on the caviar . Beverly Sills