I come home from work today, and I notice that only one of the trash cans was emptied.
This is the second week in a row that my trash man has neglected to take all of the trash.
What is his problem? I really don’t know.
I think he is lazy, but whatever.
So I go to check out the trash bags to see what the problem is.
One thing I DO actually know about the trash people is that they won’t take any garbage that isn’t contained in a garbage bag.
And people? Someone has placed several random items into my trashcan that is not my trash.
So I (still dressed in all of my working nice clothing) start to pull out items out of the trash.
Then, I stop.
Oh crap again.
I realize that someone has thrown…ahem….paraphernalia… into my trash can.
I run quickly back into the house and start to scrub my skin so hard that my skin almost falls off.
I then return, gloved and ready to go.
I pack up all of the “paraphernalia” into one bag.
Then? I realize that the existing bags that were already in the trash can need to be divided into smaller bags because apparently our trash man is a frail muscle-less man who cannot lift them.
OH wait, another crap.
This time? I discover that these bags? Are filled with cut grass. However, because we have two dogs when we cut the grass, dog poop residue is all over it.
And lucky for me, since the trash man hasn’t taken these bags for two weeks, the grass and poop has just been marinating. In the hot sun. And then it rained. And got hot again. And rained. And got hot again.
Getting the picture?
I open up one bag and my gag reflex is so strong that I almost puke on the sidewalk.
I bury my face into my shirt once I recover and go to work.
I have to SQQQQQUUUEEEZZZEEE all the water and poop out of the grass so it wont be so heavy.
And of course, I splash some on my toes.
And then? I splash some on my clothes.
At this point, I am furious. I am stomping and getting so mad that the neighbors probably think I have a mental problem, since no one else was there but me.
I drag the hose out to the front of the house when I FINALLY finish cleaning and separating the bags.
I then also show up with my disinfectant.
Now, I become the even-crazier neighbor by disinfecting and spraying off the entire sidewalk while mumbling to myself.
I finally finish and stalk back inside to scour my skin off. Even after 20 minutes of scouring? The smell was so pungent that it is stuck to me.
My husband walks into give me a hug and is immediately repulsed.
Excellent. I tell him what happened, and he is rolling on the ground.
I think he gets too much joy out of my misery. I ask him if it smelled outside too much.
He said ‘Well, it smells like diarrhea. Mixed with something kinda toxic, like ammonia.”
Great. Because people? What do they always tell you to do if you smell a strong smell of ammonia in your neighborhood? Call the cops. Because there’s probably a meth lab nearby.
Well, wouldn’t that just make this day complete?