Yes, Taking Out the Trash Can Be Fun

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Owning a home comes with a lot of ups and downs. Fortunately the positives outweigh the negatives. Yes there are the occasional repairs and surprise bills, but at the end of the day being able to sit in my room knowing I own the place makes even my daily chores worth while. In fact knowing the place is mine even makes taking out the trash a thing I look forward to doing.

How did taking out the trash become fun? Well, to understand you have to go back more than twenty years. Back then my wife and I lived in a fourth floor apartment and taking out the trash meant going all the way down to the basement where a back door lead out to the dumpster. Once out back I never quite knew what I might find on the ground. Old food was a regular standby, with chicken bones being a favorite. At least one of my neighbors must have owned a cat as it was impossible to get to the dumpster without stepping in litter: both clumped and coated on cat landmines.

When we first moved in I could not figure out why there was always such a mess by the dumpster. Were my neighbors using cheap trash bags, the kind that fail puncture tests on commercials? If so, how hard would it have been to clean up when a bag broke? Then one day, while I was putting trash in the dumpster, a bag fell from the sky. This surprise from the heavens hit the side of the dumpster, exploding on contact. I narrowly missed the pleasure of wearing some of its contents. That’s when I realized some of my neighbors were using the fire escape for a trash chute, instead of taking the long walk to the basement.

Having to walk in a mixture of trash and kitty litter was bad. Dodging flying trash bags was was even worse. But the most unpleasant surprise came when they decided to move the dumpster. My guess is that they were trying to get it away from the fire escape, forcing us all to stop being lazy. They moved it over several feet, putting it right under our apartment window. I wouldn’t have thought much about the move except that it came at a most inopportune time for me and my wife.

Dads, did you notice how sensitive your wife’s sense of smell became when she was pregnant? When they moved the dumpster, my wife was four or five months pregnant. We had just come back from shopping and she was in the apartment less than two minutes before complaining about the smell. Without even looking she told me the dumpster had been moved and was now under our window. A quick glance outside proved she was right. Of course the task of contacting our landlord fell to me: better the embarrassment of pleading for a dumpster move than to endure a pregnant and nauseous wife for another four or five months.

Compared to trips to the dumpster, trash day is now a pleasant opportunity to go outside. I no longer worry about stepping in anything...most of the time. (Cleanup after your dog please!) I control where I put the trash cans and I better not catch anyone tossing trash bags down from above. When my wife was pregnant with our second son, I was able to make sure the trash cans were as far away from the house as possible. What a great feeling of control. But most of all trash day reminds me that the building I live in is mine. And so I look forward to taking out the trash. It is a reminder of where I have been and of the blessings I now have.