the daily snivel
Another thing I won't miss when I move out
Garbage day
Garbage day is my most hated day of the week. Now, I can hear you saying, "You know, Rob, they have garbage day in Toronto, too." The thing is, I don't mind puttering around the house and doing the usual chores. Garbage day around my house, therefore, must be a special event to earn such a high amount of my ire. In fact, I'm the de facto garbage man around the house. According to my lease, my unit gets a modest rent abatement each month in exchange for chores around the building like shoveling snow, cutting the grass, and taking out the garbage. Therefore, every week my unit is responsible for taking out the garbage for all five units in the building. As it happens, however, I personally of mythree four roommates (including one live-in boyfriend of a roommate) end up being the one who does this every week. I also end up being the one who cuts the grass, changes the lightbulbs, and shovels the driveway and salts the steps in winter.
Today was garbage day again, and I woke up after two days of being bed-ridden with food poisoning knowing that I had work to do. But let me tell you. I was tired, only now recovering my strength and ability to stand up without getting sick, and I wouldn't have minded if one of my roommates could have taken it upon themselves to take out the trash, just once, even though I didn't (and never) ask. But no. Instead, the kitchen garbage can was overflowing, to the point where the lid couldn't even sit on it straight. People just kept stuffing the garbage further down. It wasn't a healthy rage that stirred inside me as I wrestled with the garbage bag, but the sight of grapes rolling lazily atop the vast heap of waste that tested the very limits of extra large Glad bag technology was the proverbial last straw. You know, on top of everything else in that garbage bag, someone had to throw out a bunch of grapes that had nowhere to go in the critical mass of kitchen waste, so they just rolled around as I struggled and barely managed to tie the bag closed. No one could be bothered even just to tie up the garbage and put in a new garbage bag so that it wouldn't be such a pain in the ass for me to take out today. Even that small act of not being completely lazy would have been just fine.
Then, as I was taking out the garbage for the other units around back, I noticed that someone had put three big garbage bags of their own on my back deck. That someone, I'm assuming, being one of my roommates. And I thought, okay, fine. Put them out there even though there are bins for that. But why don't you put them out on the curb on garbage day while you're at it, instead of lazily leaving them there and expecting me to do it? Gah!
I completely lost it when I took out the recycling. As I stepped out with the recycling bin onto the sidewalk, I slipped on sheer ice and flew ass over teakettle (as my sailor-mouthed mother would say) into the snow, spilling recyclables everywhere. Wearing only shoes and my robe (which made me feel a bit like a porn star), and, OK, a copious dusting of snow, I had to madly scoop paper and cardboard and flyers back into the bin as the recycling truck came closer and closer down the street. My hands are still stinging from the burn of smacking hard against snow and ice. That. No. One. Thought. To. Salt.
Yep, one more thing I won't miss when I move.
Garbage day is my most hated day of the week. Now, I can hear you saying, "You know, Rob, they have garbage day in Toronto, too." The thing is, I don't mind puttering around the house and doing the usual chores. Garbage day around my house, therefore, must be a special event to earn such a high amount of my ire. In fact, I'm the de facto garbage man around the house. According to my lease, my unit gets a modest rent abatement each month in exchange for chores around the building like shoveling snow, cutting the grass, and taking out the garbage. Therefore, every week my unit is responsible for taking out the garbage for all five units in the building. As it happens, however, I personally of my
Today was garbage day again, and I woke up after two days of being bed-ridden with food poisoning knowing that I had work to do. But let me tell you. I was tired, only now recovering my strength and ability to stand up without getting sick, and I wouldn't have minded if one of my roommates could have taken it upon themselves to take out the trash, just once, even though I didn't (and never) ask. But no. Instead, the kitchen garbage can was overflowing, to the point where the lid couldn't even sit on it straight. People just kept stuffing the garbage further down. It wasn't a healthy rage that stirred inside me as I wrestled with the garbage bag, but the sight of grapes rolling lazily atop the vast heap of waste that tested the very limits of extra large Glad bag technology was the proverbial last straw. You know, on top of everything else in that garbage bag, someone had to throw out a bunch of grapes that had nowhere to go in the critical mass of kitchen waste, so they just rolled around as I struggled and barely managed to tie the bag closed. No one could be bothered even just to tie up the garbage and put in a new garbage bag so that it wouldn't be such a pain in the ass for me to take out today. Even that small act of not being completely lazy would have been just fine.
Then, as I was taking out the garbage for the other units around back, I noticed that someone had put three big garbage bags of their own on my back deck. That someone, I'm assuming, being one of my roommates. And I thought, okay, fine. Put them out there even though there are bins for that. But why don't you put them out on the curb on garbage day while you're at it, instead of lazily leaving them there and expecting me to do it? Gah!
I completely lost it when I took out the recycling. As I stepped out with the recycling bin onto the sidewalk, I slipped on sheer ice and flew ass over teakettle (as my sailor-mouthed mother would say) into the snow, spilling recyclables everywhere. Wearing only shoes and my robe (which made me feel a bit like a porn star), and, OK, a copious dusting of snow, I had to madly scoop paper and cardboard and flyers back into the bin as the recycling truck came closer and closer down the street. My hands are still stinging from the burn of smacking hard against snow and ice. That. No. One. Thought. To. Salt.
Yep, one more thing I won't miss when I move.
