Queen Decimates Minions

*photo from here

Um Hi.

I live in the Journey household?  Yeah, it’s just beyond Survival?  Yes.  

Well, I have a contract with you people.  A contract for trash.  I don’t know if I’ve been told the wrong date, or what, but I’ve got trash coming out of my ears!

I’ve had the trash out at the curb with plenty of time.  There is no reason this should happen for going into three weeks now!

If there isn’t a truck picking up my trash today, I will be using another service immediately.

K thanx Bye

***

what i didn’t say

***

Mr. Survival promised as religiously as he said his prayers (which is a lot) that he was going to get me my trash.  By which he meant, I was going to have all my garbage taken away.  Until he completely vacated his previous building, we were able to stuff the dumpster there.  But since he was disassembling an entire workplace, the dumpster left with the money.  

It’s not that hard to say no.  Really it isn’t.  I learned how after my children were born.  I’m a pro.  I can knock out twelve hundred no’s between the end of school and bedtime no sweat.  

Unfortunately, Mr. Survival did not mirror this skill.  At all.

He uses the delightful word no about as often as a rare disease.  As in 1:1200  roughly.  

The thing about him though, is he likes to be my hero.  It’s a nice trait, very saxy and all.  It’s just not very NICE.  Southern nice but not Nice. We women understand better the available time left in any given person we meet.  

Why?

Leftovers.  

We can measure up anybody, and see if we would/could/should fit in that life.  Just like we can tell if a glob of cranberry sauce will fit in that smaller container.  Even if the current container is round, and the potential container is square.  

Anyway, I just think that he shoulda been nicer to me and just told me NO.  That he couldn’t do it.  That he didn’t have time. Even when I questioned him directly about those realities, he couldn’t get off his white [high] horse.  Had to try and storm the castle and bring home the bacon.

This exact marital problem bliss, is why I ended up going from October 23rd to November 15th without any trash disposal whatsoever.  Except what I stuffed into Mr. Survival’s trunk when he wasn’t looking, and he disposed of at work so he could have a stink free ride home.  

Finally on November 15th, he caved.  He asked me to do it.  Hallelujah, the angels sang and the heavens parted!  It was done two hours later.  I’ve got my priorities straight.

Wait, did I say that right?  I didn’t think so.  The contract was done.  Unfortunately for us, Mr. Survival picked garbage day to surrender.  This meant no pick-up for another week.  I was disappointed, but happy that at least the solution was on the horizon.  Also?  Cans themselves were going to be 8-10 days.

I was told to put “about 10 bags” of garbage out for the truck before 6 AM the next Monday, and the receptacles would be delivered later on.  I did as I was told giddily.

Each bag I moved out to the end of the driveway was a little bit lighter load on my back.  I’ve never been so happy to take out the garbage.  It even got me out of bed in time to exercise for the first time in a while.

I kept peeking on my pile of trash all day.  It deflated somehow, a little more each time.  The rain didn’t help.  I left for my hour long round trip to haul the kids back to the Survival Ranch.  We came back and the pile was still there.

I think something died inside me.  Tiny, but still some living thing died.  It helped a little that the containers were there nestled among the bags like penguin parents reacquainting with their eggs.  But not much.

The recycling bin helped the most.  Of course.  We went to ½ to ¾ of a bag a day instead of 1½ to 2.  It comforted me a little to wash things out and send them out to the recycling bin, leaving more and more room in the trash bag inside.  Every once in a while I rummage through the bin to make sure no recycling is wasted in the trash.  I’m obsessed.

Finally the day grew nearer.  Sunday I decided I couldn’t wait any longer.  At 5:30PM I trucked that baby out to the curb strewn gravel at the end of the drive.  I even analyzed if I was putting it in the right spot.  Maybe they wouldn’t stop if I left it there...he never specified where to put it...this has to be it because everyone else does it like this.  And I wait.

All day Monday.  Wait.

Nada.

Zip.

Zilch.

I think I handled my phone call well, don’t you?

They’re so lucky I didn’t explode. I think Morgan had the right idea yesterday.

Needless to say, I received a very contrite message when I came out from bathing Chickadee.  They sent out a truck especially for me.  She said to let them know right away if anything like this ever happens again.  

You bet I will.