When I was a toddler, and the time came for the 'Rents to get me off of the baby bottle, they did what any quick-thinking parent would do: they told me that the garbage man took it. Well, it wasn't far from the truth, because the garbage man did in deed take my bottle after one of the 'Rents or Grandma threw it in the garbage can. Mom said that I immediately hated the garbage man, and would fuss and carry on whenever I would see a garbage truck, because the mean old garbage man took my bottle.
Fast forward to today, and I still don't like the garbage man. Thursday morning is our garbage pick-up, and I honestly do not think that our garbage man could be any louder. Add to this the second garbage man in the 'hood comes to the store down the street and empties the dumpster on Thursday mornings. I don't think I can begin to describe the sound that a large, heavy, cast iron dumpster makes when it is dropped down on the ground after it has been emptied.
All I can say is I'm glad that both of these garbage men come on the same morning, about an hour apart.
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