One of the banes of my existence (a man of my talents and character has many banes, as it turns out) is the trash, recycling and yard waste removal company—Dump Daddy—that serves our neighborhood.
I am distrustful of monopolies, and the multi-year, exclusive sweetheart contract that our city has made with the company seems to give all the benefit to the removal company, and little to the residents. They charge high rates and are very strict about any overages, once doubling my trash charge because the lid was not flush with the top of the container.
They also have a diabolical tendency to send their trucks early on the days when I forget to put out the cans. There is nothing quite so chilling as the sound of the garbage truck accelerating gleefully past my house, when I know I have a full can, but forgot to put it out. Of course, on the days when I put the cans out on Sunday night, they resentfully send the truck to my neighborhood around noon.
A month or two ago, I decided to shell out for an extra blue yard waste bin, because we seemed to be generating an unusually-large amount of yard waste (clippings, prunings and untreated wood from the deck that used to surround the hot tub). So it was with a sinking feeling this afternoon, that I realized both yard bins were at least half-empty.
I hate paying for recycling and yard waste (I believe they should pay me for my valuable recyclables and yard waste, or at least removal should be free) and it is especially infuriating to pay for bins that are left empty.
“Time to prune!” I shouted. Everyone turned out to help as I waved my reciprocating saw over my head with abandon, and tree limbs began to rain down on the driveway. Several unwitting members of the Pancho family (they thought they were coming to watch a movie, and maybe have some ice cream) were sucked into the fun.
We managed to fill both our bins, and even contributed to the blue bin of a generous neighbor who was attracted by the noise (or possibly he had dialed 911, and needed details for the dispatcher). Now the mailman can actually approach our mailbox, and Kathy can park in the driveway without being scratched by bushes.
The full bins are safely out at the curb, so we’re as ready for Monday as we’re likely to be.
Project 365, Day 214