Fred

One of my favorite Beatles' songs is Taxman. It's one of those songs that you just have to sing (or yell) along with. The best thing is that the chorus is so simple, everyone else listening to it picks up right away and joins in. Not earning any money right now, I don't have any issues with the tax man. But yesterday I had to chase after the trash man.

Dumpsters and garbage cans and weekly pickups don't exist here. There are daily pickups instead. Every weekday at a specific time, the garbage truck pulls around and everyone on the block runs out with their bags of trash. This happens daily. I really think it would just be easier to stash a dumpster or two on each block and come weekly, or every few days. Who knows.

When I moved in to my place I didn't know the trash time. Nor did my roommates. Nor did our landlord. And the old guy who always sits out on the steps in front of our building only speaks Russian. What, were we supposed to just sit around all day looking for the trash man? No. We had lives to live.

We went at least two weeks without taking out the trash. What happened could be considered 'the trash pile.' I named it Fred.

Fred smelled bad. Fred's growth rate was too fast. We didn't like Fred but since we had no idea what to do with him, he stayed put in the corner, always growing. When Fred actually started getting in the way of free movement around the kitchen, we were forced to have a stake out for the trash man. We said our goodbyes to Fred at 6:15pm.

The problem is still that we have to physically be on the street to put our trash in the truck. If we miss it, too bad. Yesterday around 6:16 I remembered. I grabbed the bags that occupied Fred's old spot and made a break for the street. I made it. A feeling of satisfaction came over me. Then I looked behind me and saw the trail from my door, out the foyer, into the street. The satisfaction turned to sadness. It's just never easy is it?