My Hero -- The Garbage Man

I forgot to take out the garbage last week when Jeff was gone for work. Our garbage can is stored in the garage which is directly connected to the house. I can't tell you whether we are more thankful around here for a Thanksgiving holiday or that garbage day is tomorrow. Andy's poopy diapers are putrid when they are fresh. You can imagine the toxicity of those vile things when they are two weeks old.

This brings me to an interesting thought. Growing up I always thought the most contemptible job was that of a garbage man. In the 80s they didn't have the nice standardized trash cans with the serial numbers. We had three short 35 gallon metal garbage cans. On garbage day the trash cans, beaten and bent, forlornly sat at the end of the drive way filled to capacity with two or three more bags piled on top. The garbage truck would come by with two filthy men hanging like monkeys on the sides. The truck would stop in front of my house. The workers would jump off the truck and manually lift the trash and pour the cans into the truck's giant trash receptacle. In my childish pride, I wouldn't dare look at the truck and the workers because I thought the whole scene was so disgusting and pitiable.

Now I almost get tears in my eyes thinking of what my world and everyone else's would be like if the garbage man and his truck didn't come to take away my refuse every week. In my world, my junk disappears weekly and I have the luxury of not even knowing the whereabouts of the dump.

I've been thinking of this for awhile. How do I express my gratitude? Should I leave cookies or a note atop the garbage can? I'm afraid it might get mistaken for trash. Should I run out Wednesday mornings in my pajamas with tears in my eyes when I hear the beeping and crashing? Would the poor guy think I am insane and be afraid?
There's one guy around here that idolizes the garbage truck. For Andy, the man that gets to drive that impressive piece of machinery is right up there with train conductors and airline pilots. Wednesdays are the days the blinds must be open so he can watch the miracle unfold outside.

On a different note, Andy smiles. Who knew? Since he turned two he's shed his serious exterior and laughs like a maniac when someone pretends to be a cookie monster. So for Thanksgiving I have to say I'm thankful for the garbage removal program and also for Andy's smiles. Life is pretty good to me.