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A few years ago, everyone in the neighborhood received notices that the garbage collection service was changing. A month later, everyone received an envelope containing a prepaid post card with dates and times on it. We had to choose a time to schedule delivery of our new trash container, ’cause someone had to be home to sign for it.
A few weeks later, a flatbed truck arrived piled high with trash bins, and went around delivering containers. Every trash container was numbered and by signing for delivery, each resident became the registered owner.
Taped to the outside of the container, was a neon-green paper listing the do & don’t rules – do this or we don’t pick up your trash. Under the notice, were the rules embossed into the plastic lid. Next to the embossed rules, was a white decal with the rules listed in Spanish & English - ’nuff already.
The container itself is almost five feet high; at least two feet square, and has two over-sized plastic wheels on the back side, for a little leverage when rolling it to the curb. The rules stated that everything in the container must be in securely closed bags, and you can’t put any more then 250 lbs or 96 gallons in the bin. I don’t think I’ve ever had 96 gallons of anything at one time – so I’m good.
Garbage pick-up is on Wednesdays and the container has to be at the curb by 7 a.m., with the lid opening toward the curb. The container itself must be at least five feet from any object – that’s like an island in the middle of the ocean in the Bronx. There were more rules, but what the heck; at least I’m not the one picking up the trash. And every year, just before Thanksgiving, I get a calendar from the garbage company, along with another neon-green sheet of rules.
One Wednesday evening I came home from work and my trash container wasn’t at the curb – it had disappeared – gone with the wind. Oh well, I figured I’d just call the trash company and get another. The next day when I called, they told me that to get another container I had to file a police report for stolen property – here’s your container number and please call back with the police case number.
You have got to be kidding, I said. No, it’s just routine, they said. I called the police and was embarrassed and apologetic at wasting a cop’s time about a missing trash bin. They didn’t seem perturbed either - here’s your complaint number.
I called the trash company back and when I got home that night, there was a brand new container waiting for me – with that taped neon-green sheet of rules and another prepaid post card to sign and return for a new registration and to resume my trash collection. I did and everything went along fine for a while, until I decided, about 3 years into this service, to take a Wednesday off work.
