I would love to hang out on a garbage truck early in the morning, in Alaska. Think what you’d see—and I’m not talking animals. Like this morning when my daughter, Katy saw the truck coming while loading her daughter in her car-seat.
As she grabbed the container to wrestle it down our never-ending driveway in the still-dark morning, the truck spotlight illuminated her like the spaceship lit up Richard Dreyfus in Close Encounters. It blinded her as she floundered to the curb, toddler in one arm, garbage container in the other, yelling, “Wait-wait-wait!” She barely made it, adrenaline pumping like Usain Bolt on an Olympic sprint.
Nothing like flailing in the spotlight performing for the neighborhood—because, as we all know, keeping garbage another week is not an option. These garbage ballets happen all over my town once a week. It’s a rite of passage here.
At least there wasn’t ice to slip on. Yet.
Last winter Katy slid down the driveway with the garbage container, when her feet went airborne and she ker-splatted on her back. The container flipped open and baptized her in stinky banana peels, sappy eggshells, and toddler residue.
I’ve heard stories about Alaskans who’ve chased garbage trucks. I’d love to swipe through photos on a driver’s phone when they get together during lunch breaks. The conversation would go like this:
“Yeah, one lady’s robe came undone and when she stepped on it, off it came—she had nothing on but the garbage container behind her—but she got that garbage to the curb, by golly.”
“Hey that’s nothin’, should have seen this dude out there stark naked at ten below in cowboy boots, when the container tipped over and he tripped on the garbage and slid on his stomach down his driveway—”
Add a bear to the mix and the videos go viral. Last year when dragging garbage out to the curb, a black bear popped out from behind our car, following me like a puppy. Yeah right, like I’d grab a morsel of garbage and toss it to him. Fetch Yogi! Not on your life. I put the container between Yogi and me. When the garbage truck pulled up, Yogi took off. One less human eaten.
Now that Winter Is Coming, we need to remember to maybe put something on before we dash out of the house, so we don’t wind up on the next viral video of Nextdoor or the Eagle River Crime Facebook Page in our skivvies–or worse.
And if things go south—please don’t turn that spotlight on us, okay? *wink*
© Lois Paige Simenson and The Alaska Philosophaster, 2018, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to The Alaska Philosophaster with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.