I swear Wednesday felt like the longest day of the year. What’s
that? It was? Oh yeah, summer solstice
– literally the longest day of the year. I knew that.
In my neighborhood, it figuratively was a long day too.
I swear Wednesday felt like the longest day of the year. What’s that? It was? Oh yeah, summer solstice – literally the longest day of the year. I knew that.
In my neighborhood, it figuratively was a long day too.
I woke up to my wife saying “Did you put out the garbage?” as the Waste Management truck rumbled through our neighborhood at 6:30 a.m. Missing the garbage man is like missing a train or a bus. You were THIS CLOSE to making it, but the vehicle speeds away, just out of your grasp, and you are left behind, feeling like an idiot and wondering what you’re going to do next.
Waking up isn’t my strong suit anyway, but waking up at the crack of dawn after going to sleep six hours earlier really throws me off. Emerging from a dream state into the real world makes me feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone, although it’s not black and white and Rod Serling isn’t smoking in my room.
Luckily, I had a pair of shorts right next to my bed. Unfortunately, half-asleep men aren’t good at quick-dressing. I don’t know how firemen do it. With my eyes wide shut, I grabbed the shorts off the floor and tried to find a leg hole for my right leg as I hopped on my left leg like a drunken kangaroo.
When I opened my eyes, I realized the shorts were inside-out, so I hastily corrected that, slipped them on, and raced toward the front door. Bleary-eyed, I banged my shoulder on a hallway corner. Not wanting to wake the kids, I muffled my anger and silently threatened to punch the corner for ambushing me. But I had no time to fight with inanimate objects right then.
As I got outside, I watched helplessly as the garbage man drove away without seeing me. It was a feeling I’ve had before. I hoped he hadn’t been on the other side of the street yet, so I kept watch for half an hour before he rumbled by again and let me put out my garbage after I apologetically pointed to the can and then to his truck.
“It wasn’t out before,” he pointed out over the rumble of his truck’s engine, probably just to let me know that he didn’t skip me on purpose.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I yelled back. “Can you take it?”
He pointed to the front of his truck and with relief I dragged the can across the street and thanked him for his generosity. Now I wouldn’t have to haul my garbage over to my parents’ house and hope that they had room in their garbage for my garbage.
On my way back inside, I shot a dirty look to the corner wall that attacked me a few minutes earlier. It didn’t flinch, so I let it slide…this time. Even though the day was going to be long, life is too short.
The excitement of my garbage race got my adrenaline going, so I walked to the dry-erase calendar on my refrigerator and wrote a “garbage out” reminder for next Tuesday.
Would I forget to put out the trash again? Probably.
Did I want to be startled awake and do the short-pants dance again? Definitely not.
Garbage day this week was, in fact, the longest day of the year, and I participated in more of it than I had planned. It’s a trashy memory I wish I could just throw away.
Adam Breen teaches journalism and yearbook at San Benito High School. He is former editor of The Free Lance.
