If any of you know me, you've heard me talk about "Gramps". God love him. He just gets shit done. When I was a kid, I'd stay summers down at the beach house in Narragansett. Since it was a seasonal home, "Big Nick" as he is known never bothered to set up trash service. Why would he? It's much more fun to throw smelly trash in the trunk of the Cutlass Supreme station wagon and drive down the road to Cumbee's. They don't care if you throw your shit in their dumpster, right?
We'd pull up around the side, Gramps would throw it in park, pop the trunk, grab the trash and heave it over the lip of the dumpster as only a 75 year-old could. Meanwhile, I'm nervously strapped in the front seat and the only thing my eyes will look at is the sign on the dumpster that reads something like this:
"This dumpster is for Cumberland Farms trash only. Don't throw your shit in here. If you do and we catch you, you'll go to jail."
Nice, like I have any shot of bailing ol' Gramps out if say a cop at the Dunkie's next door happens to catch him doing this?! Oh yeah, you know there was a Dunkie's next door. In fact once the trash was gone we pretty much b-lined it straight there for some sick glazed donuts and crullers. Crushed it every time.
I mention this because, here in the Lou, where you can still smoke in bars and let your dog crap on the sidewalk without fear, there happens to be no curbside recycling. That's right. That's basically the equivalent of not setting up trash service ala Gramps, except St. Louis does it for all their recycling minded residents. Needless to say once a week, I throw the recycling bin in the trunk and drive to good old Givens Hall. The sight of which is like seeing this guy if you are James Bond. Pure torture. But what else can you do except throw it in park, pop the trunk and heave ho!
|compliments to Dolci for the pic|