Thursday, October 23, 2008

My Favorite Day of the Week

What's your favorite day of the week? Well I'm sure it depends on who you are and what you do.

If you're a toddler, you probably like "zoo day" or "music day" with your mom- or perhaps "playdate day"- again, not a specific day.

In elementary school kid, you probably like Friday- after all, it's usually Pizza Day. Or maybe in our crappy underfunded school system where PE is only twice a week, then perhaps PE day is your favorite- or Computer lab day. Or the one that parents hate- half day, which usually is on a Wednesday, as if we don't work.

Once you hit Jr. High or High school, perhaps you look forward to Fridays because of a different reason- like football night. Or sports in general might lead to "game day" being your favorite- or most hated, if your parents make you play.

We all look forward to Saturday since there's no school, and most people don't work. But for those who work retail, then Saturday would probably be a bad day.

Sunday's good for church. I'm in between Sunday services right now. We all need a little refreshing for the week, plus a day to worship.

Wait, I almost forgot payday. Maybe it's every other Friday or twice a month- what about the every other Friday schedule where you actually get 3 checks in a single month? Those are pretty cool aren't they? Or along the workweek vein, perhaps you look forward to "hump day" since the workweek is half over.

Well let me tell you my favorite day of the week. Perhaps it's a guy thing, I don't know. My favorite day of the week is Trash Day. That's right- my favorite day of the week is the day that the trash truck comes.

Now I don't have a large family- just two kids, my wife and a dog. I don't live on a big property- it's a tract home- we live at the end of a cul-de-sac, more on that later. But we collect plenty of trash. Nothing unusual, but it never fails that the curbside trash can is loaded 9 out of 10 trash days. Add to that the fact that my home office sits above the front of the house so I can see the trash man come, and I get immediate satisfaction upon its departure.

But I don't really enjoy trash or the trash dude. I enjoy the fact that it's gone. I enjoy knowing that I have a fresh empty can. It's sort of like when guys go to public restrooms- we always flush before we do our business. It's the fresh bowl mentality. And the reason it feels so good to see it go is that it means that I can fill it up again- the trash can AND the toilet.

Especially in the summertime in Arizona, when it's often 110 plus for months straight, it is not fun to mow the lawn. I'm not rich enough to pay someone to do it, plus I don't think that my "grounds" warrant hiring a gardener, so I do it myself. But I have to cut the grass no less than once every 10 days. If I miss that 10 day cutoff, then we have jungle action, with hidden dog crap. And then we're in trouble. So after grass day, I'll have perhaps 4 bags of grass, of which 2 will fit in the can with room for house trash. So then I have a few bags laying around on the ground because they will miss the bus. So the monstrosity of the overloaded trash can is now on the street awaiting "the man" (and this is a good man). if i'm lucky, my neighbor's trash isn't full and i hitchhike with his load- and he'd do the same with me- what do i care, it's all trash.

So especially on the days I'm in the office, I see that trash can awaiting the day of judgment. And then he comes rumbling up the street. I can't see him coming, but the sound is unmistakable and what a glorious sound it is. However, there are times when it is painful...

There are the times- when I drop the kids off at school on trash day and I have an important phone call to make, or I have a noon deadline and I haven't taken the trash out yet. I tell myself that I'll get it done by say 11AM. After all, he comes at noon or later every time. But then time flies by. And I lose track. And the line of sight deficiency comes back to bite me. I hear him rumbling when he's two houses away and it's too late. I kick myself in anger. Back in our old house in Seal Beach, we lived on a street and the trash man would do the opposite side first. So I'd have a good 3 minutes to make up for my lapse. But on my current culdesac, I'm screwed. I'm defeated by my own procrastination. I am ashamed.

But when all cylinders are firing and the trash is out and taken and I'm home and there's more to fill, I'll practically run out to the curb, bring it back to our side yard and fill it up again. I don't care so much that it's empty, it's more the fact that I can put trash in its place and I can trim bushes and get more crap out of the house and into the can. Then that "fresh" trash has a few days to settle while it waits for the Man to arrive again. What a glorious feeling

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