Why I Don't Like Taking Out the Trash

I don't generally introduce myself to people by throwing chunks of broken glass at them. But, you know, sometimes it happens.

Of course, like most stories of violence between neighbors, it all began at Trader Joe's grocery store.

You see, in addition to overpriced fish and stoned worker drones, TJ's also has this delicious orange-carrot-omega-something-or-other drink that is quite delicious. Basically, the orange juice overpowers the carrot and fish oil elements so it's good for you without tasting like the ground.

Ever since my doctor told me that I have enough cholesterol in my system to grease the Alaskan pipeline, I've tried to find products such as this to help me keep on keepin' on.

Another item on hand at the store are these trash bags that are made out of the thinnest material a product could be made out of without technically being air.

Now, this isn't some space-aged polymer that is ten times stronger than your average trash bag. It's more like the cheapest possible way a company could make a trash bag and still put a 1-800 customer service number on the packaging.

The combination of the OJ bottle and the crummy trash sack would be the catalyst to more mayhem than I was prepared for on a quiet Sunday morning.

Like most men, I don't take the trash out until it can no longer be compressed into the can without the use of industrial hydraulics. Today was the day. The struggle to pull the bag out of the can left me a little parched, so I opened the fridge and drank the last of my favorite orange-juice and fish-parts drink.

Having just freed the trash bag from the confines of the trash can, I quickly decided to utilize the new-found space inside the bag to cram in the glass bottle. This would prove to be unwise.

It was generally an uneventful trip to the trash bins behind my building. The stray cat we've named Bert scrambled away as soon as he saw that I wasn't my kinder wife. The faint smell of cannabis wafted over from the neighbor's back yard. And the seam of my almost-air trash bag decided to split about twelve inches from the lid of the bin where I was attempting to deposit it.

There's really no good way to spill a bag full of trash across your patio, but I'm certain that hoisting the trash over your head and THEN spilling it is not the most-preferred way to perform this action.

After taking a moment to decide which words were the correct level of profane to express my dissatisfaction with the preceding event, I began to evaluate the situation.

Aside from having most of last night's meal deposited down my shirt, it seemed the worst of it was picking up random packing materials and dumping them into the trash bin. Then, I heard the tinkling sound. The juice bottle had exploded into a few thousand pieces.

For a moment, I thought about leaving the mess for someone else to deal with, but then I remembered I'm not a total asshole. So, I traipsed back inside to grab a broom and pan.

The thing about glass on uneven pavement is that it doesn't really want to move in the direction you sweep it, a fact I discovered the hard way.

A quick flick of the broom sent shards of glass spraying in several directions, including through the fence between our patio and the neighbor's, where it promptly landed on his chest and in his ashtray.

"DUDE!" the shout came only slightly faster than the person. For a pothead, he sure moved fast.

"What in the hell are you doing?" He asked, which I felt was reasonable. "And, why do you smell like Top Ramen?"

That last dig was a little unnecessary, I thought. Sure, my experimental pasta, mushroom and teriyaki dish hadn't gone over so well with my wife the night before, but the important part was that I was trying. I told myself that the neighbor didn't know the entire back story, but I was still a little hurt.

As I am not a violent person, and he was obviously missing his weed, the standoff didn't last long. I apologized profusely, he went back to his joint and I continued to clean up the glass residue in a more controlled manner.

I leaned over the fence when I was finished and let the neighbor know that I had accomplished the rest of the task without flinging any more razor sharp shards his way, but his only response was a terse "whatever."

I like a little more resolution in my life, but it appeared we would not be communicating much more after this incident than we did before, so I decided to move on and express my displeasure to the trash bag company by calling their customer service number and seeing if a little guilt trip would get me a free pack of their crappy bags.

I'm using the time on hold to go to the store and get some more juice.