Creature of habit.

I’ve written before about how pitifully obsessed I am with my weekly trash and recycling pickup. The idea of missing a week strikes terror in my heart.

Recently my obsession has been seriously upped by the shenanigans of our waste disposal service. Our old, local company was bought out several months ago by a national group. Since then our rates have gone up by about $50/year. They’ve missed our pickup three times. The explanation changes each time I call. Last week’s pickup, all up and down our street, was five days late – even though I called and was assured it would be collected the day after our usual day.

I really can’t imagine that hounding a waste management company is the best use of my time. I’ve already got plans to switch to another, local company once our current pay cycle is complete.

But poor service at a higher price is a mundane problem compared to….

CHANGE OF OUR COLLECTION DAY!!! (cue ominous organ music)

For years our pickup coincided with the last work day of my week, Thursday. Thursday late afternoon meant the end of the work week and the beginning of my blessed, peaceful weekend. Getting the bins to the curb elicited a sort of Pavlov’s dog reaction in me. The rumbling of the wheels down the driveway made me salivate for two days of freedom.

Three weeks ago our pickup day was changed to Wednesday, meaning we had to put the bins out on Tuesday night. These last three weeks have all seemed interminably long. Bins out on Tuesday, and yet the week isn’t nearly over? Torture!

So yes, it is still true I’m obsessed with trash collection. But at least it’s a distraction from the stinky garbage in our political scene.

 

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