For all the years that we’ve lived in a home where you actually have to put the garbage and recycling at the curb (as opposed to when we lived in a condo with that wonderful invention – the trash chute), it’s been his job to put the cans out.
Well, for many of those years, it seemed like it was always such a big deal. First of all, he never did it until the morning. LIke, when I would be getting ready for work and I’d hear the big truck down the street. I would call out to him (okay, maybe I would scream…) “it’s garbage day!”
He would jump out of bed (because when you’re not really working, there isn’t any good reason to be OUT of bed at 7:00 am, I guess) and run around like a crazy man, emptying garbage cans and running out.
So, now it’s my job.
Every Wednesday morning the Waste Management truck comes. Every Wednesday, unless Monday or Tuesday is a holiday (in which case we get annoying reminder robo-calls, but I digress).
Well, I leave for work at 7:30 am, and I am extremely unwilling to get up one minute earlier than I must. I already have to get up 15 minutes earlier than I did before he moved out, so that I can let the pups out and get them fed and let them out again. And pour my own coffee because the dogs refuse to learn how to do it and bring it to me.
So, like every other woman I know, I take care of this task AHEAD OF TIME.
Really. I know. Amazing concept.
On Monday and Tuesday I already empty the garbage cans in the house (and it is amazing how much garbage two people can generate). I get the recycling ready; going through old magazines and getting rid of paper from the printer. Yesterday I even emptied about a dozen bottles of beer that were left over from a birthday party in September that have been sitting around. I figure if nobody drank them by now, it isn’t going to happen.
Then, on Tuesday I put the cans out when I get home from work. I park the car, I get out, and I move them to the curb. Before I hit the house, before I take off my coat, before I settle in for the evening.
No big deal.