Taking Out The Trash

In my continuing remembrance of youthful chores, here is one that follows you throughout your life like that bad tattoo you got in the Navy.

This is not an invitation to a blind date.

We make lots of trash. Everything we purchase comes in a box or a bag or containers within a container with an instructional booklet. Its all got to go somewhere.

In the past, all the scraps and ashes and broken china and even poop was gathered up and move as far away from the house as possible. Some could be burned, animals ate some and the rest just rotted. Back then it was important to know which way the wind blows.

Today we are efficient with our waster removal.

Every Monday I fill four plastic supper cans and at 9:00AM, a monster truck rolls through the alley with two guys who roll the containers to the back of the truck and a mechanical life tosses my leftovers into a vice that squishes it down and they move on to the next stop.

When I was a kid, one of my ‘family assignments’ was to take out the trash.

There were no plastic bags back in the day, so mom would put a paper bag from the grocery and put it in the bottom of the trashcan. That didn’t work well with the drippings and heavy stuff so the entire trashcan had to be lifted and hauled out to the alley with overflow dropping along the way.

The three tin trashcans with the ill-fitting bent lids sat in a wooden rack that was believed built by my father. I think coats of paint held the rack together more than his craftsmanship.

Move the lid and heft the smelly can tilting it into the appropriate cylinder in hopes of not missing the opening or getting splattered by the grunge. None of the cans were ever washed out as I remember so the smell just went back inside the house.

My dad had brought home this 4-foot tall bullet shaped trashcan with a swing door at the top. It did keep down the smell but was heavy enough when all the leftovers were smushed into the bottom.

The rest of the house trash was little tin receptacles in every room. Before trash day the object was to gather up all the lip stick containers and balled up paper and broken light bulbs into the largest trash container and move that out in the rain or snow or heat or just that long walk from the house to the alley.

Just like today, the city would send a huge truck down the alley but the men in their wet overalls had to lift the cans full of sludge into the truck by mere strength and repetition. I don’t think they were considered Waste Management Engineers so when they tossed the rusted out bottomed cans back in the yard it was an understood message.

Since then I’ve learn the art of filling trashcans.

Large heavy-duty plastic cans have replaced the old tin trashcans with attached lids and they are on wheels. There are no holes for drainage, but that is another story.

For six to eight months, I tested the cities capability to haul off heavy cans. I believe the cans are classified as about 90 gallons, but I heard some major groans. I appreciate the cities dedication of taking anything that fits in the can, including wood and wallboard.

Luckily I live in an area where if I put out a broken appliance, in a day or two it disappears from the opportunist in white pickup trucks for a free yard sale.

Now I recycle most of the plastic, paper, glass so the four super cans mostly remain empty or half full. In the fall there are leaves to pick up and in the spring sticks that didn’t survive the winter, but for the most part, I don’t throw much away anymore. Without a trash compactor or garbage disposal I still use paper towels to clean up the mess or the roaches take care of the rest.

In the end, someone else will have to put me in a bag and put me out with the trash.