It's Raining Shit!

One of the unforeseen consequences of moving into an apartment in the middle of an environmentally-conscious city was the rapid accumulation of garbage that we had no way of getting rid of. Our problem started right after we moved in. The landlord told us that garbage pickup happened twice a week: Tuesday and Friday. No problem, we said. However, by the time the first Friday rolled around, getting to the front door involved literally clawing our way through a corridor of packing paper, boxes, hangers, old clothes, discarded stationary, and milk bottles.

Needless to say, it felt good carting all of it out to the curb Friday morning. However as I was wrestling my fourth wardrobe box of shit down the stairs, one of our neighbors informed me that there was no way the garbage men would take any more than I had already deposited on the street. I looked at the three refrigerator-sized boxes I had managed to heave onto the sidewalk and then thought of the trash jungle lurking behind our front door. What were we going to do?

For a while Mitali had the bright idea of sneaking across the street and leaving bags of trash in the garbage cans in the park. This worked for a couple days until she managed to fill up all the cans within walking distance of our apartment. It was at that point that I think the neighborhood realized that they had Americans living in their midst. Unfortunately, Mitali's brave escapades hadn't made a dent in our ocean of garbage. We were still tunneling our way from room to room.

Fortunately on Monday night Mitali had another great idea which involved the use of our rental car. "Load all this stuff up and find a dumpster," she told me from the sofa, making room to breastfeed Sonya by pushing aside the head rest to a baby carseat, three dirty burp-cloths, an empty bag of toddler wipes, and the plastic bag our mattress had come in.

At first I was a little hesitant about the prospect of throwing garbage into city dumpsters. What if I got caught? However, thirty minutes later I was gleefully shoveling my second load of bursting cardboard boxes, picture frames, and nearly-empty lotion bottles into the back seat of our Nissan sedan. The first run had gone smoothly. After only five minutes of circling St. Laurent Avenue I had located a dumpster behind a pharmacy. Before Captain Planet had any idea what was going on, I ditched a mountain of tshirts, dirty diapers, and paper and was on my way back for another load.

Afraid that the pharmacy had discovered my crap pile and were now on the lookout, I decided to try my luck at another dumpster. The sun was setting as I tossed a few final skeins of cheap yarn into the trunk and slid into the drivers seat.

It was dark by the time I found another dumpster. This one, the size of a small bus, was positioned against what appeared to be a condemned apartment building. A construction site: the perfect place to drop a final load. I pulled up beside the bin and discovered that its sides had to be at least 8 feet tall. This meant that I had to prop large boxes over my head and then jump as I shoved them over the side. This was no small feat given the weight and enormity of the boxes I was heaving over. As my crap disappeared out of sight it made terrific crashing sounds as shelving units, pots, and ratty shoes thundered into the dumpster.

I was really making good time and had just heaved a steel rice cooker into the bin when a rather disheveled guy appeared out of nowhere. I proceeded to launch the rice cooker's heavy glass lid over the side.

"Dude," he said, clearly pissed,"get the fuck away from my dumpster." About to throw an old picture frame over, I froze. Oh god.

"Didn't you here me before?" he demanded. I stammered.

"N...n...no. I didn't hear anything. I swear!" A moment of silence passed between us and in it I heard the crashing sound continue in the dumpster. I had not thrown anything else in.

"Man, there's like 20 people living in there." I immediately thought about the vase, the rice cooker, and the pan I had just tossed over the side.

"Dude, I am so, SO sorry. I didn't realize. I'm leaving right now." Without giving him a chance to respond, let alone throw the rice cooker lid back at me, I jumped back in the car, slammed the door, and raced off.

I parked the car across the street from our apartment thankful that I had not speared a homeless person through the chest with the bathroom organizer in the back seat or clocked some vagrant schizophrenic with the picture frame still left in the trunk. Tomorrow would be Tuesday, I thought to myself. Excellent. I leaned the picture frame and the bathroom organizer against the fence with my neighbors' garbage, proceeded up the steps, and into our quite spacious new home.