How I almost got arrested

Rain doesn’t like me. It never has. My cough reached the point that I  had everything about my lungs checked and my heart too because you never know. After spending umpteen dollars as I haven’t met my insurance deductible yet–and I go to the doctor a lot, I found out it’s most probably allergies. I’m still convinced they read the X-ray wrong but anyway….

It rained most of last week. I felt horrible and was in a worse mood. The rolling city-owned garbage and recycle bins are collected early Wednesday morning. For the first time I forgot to take them from house to the edge of the court Tuesday night–and this is one of my more exciting moments of the week. I feel so testosterone driven home owner.

By Thursday night the rolling garbage bin was filled and I couldn’t take it. On Friday morning they pick up trash filled plastic bags. Every time there was a lull in the very heavy thunderstorm I would begin taking the garbage to the edge and it would begin pouring so heavily I couldn’t see in front of me.

I set my alarm for two AM. Pouring. Set it for four AM. Still pouring. I woke up at nine AM knowing that the bags, not mine, had been picked up.

Now I tied my kitchen bags into heavier huge garbage bags. One kitchen bag per garbage bag. I’m generous that way.

My side of the street isn’t paved but is contrasting rows of dirt (now mud,) sand, and sad grass. Have I told you that there are holes everywhere? It isn’t fun to walk down. I’m in the midst of long one-sided conversations with city officials about this. They claim it’s supposed to be paved. “Someday.”

My city is one of the cities in the country operating with a budget surplus. They’re building a huge athletic complex in the middle of nowhere. It will be complete with walking tracks. You can’t walk there. Really.

But more than the lack of a street I really really hate overflowing garbage. So I get the brilliant idea of bringing the rolling cart a few blocks down to a dumpster. Now I have seen people in cars pull up to “private” dumpsters, open their and throw the contents into dumpsters. One very long block down are the public dumpsters.

However the very muddy pot holed “street” didn’t like my rolling bin. The wheels kept sinking into the mud. I began wondering if the streets were made out of quicksand. Never was one person so happy to see a dumpster. I threw two bags in. Three more to go.

A very white-faced 60something man came half-running from the bushes separating the townhouses with extraordinarily weird individual tiny pools from the dumpster.

“It’s private.”

“Sorry.”

He walked up to the dumpster and stared in. For a second I thought he was going to dumpster-dive.

“You have to go in and take them out. It’s very messy garbage.”

“I won’t. And I believe the definition of things you put in a dumpster is ‘messy garbage.'”

OK he wanted to kill me.

“This is extreme garbage.”

I became very defensive of my garbage. “I put in two large Hefty garbage bags with one kitchen bag each. It’s as neat as garbage can be.”

He was getting angrier and angrier. The white face had turned pink. His yellow hair looked whiter. “I’m going to have you arrested.”

I began thinking….I know all the cops. They have either been to my house because of doggy noise complaints next door (long story) or we’ve met on walks, or somebody has introduced us in restaurants or stores. I couldn’t really see any of them willingly arrest me.

But if they did, I could explain that I was doing this for a greater good. To get a sidewalk on my side of the street. There aren’t stop signs, white lines or traffic lines yet my street has become a major traffic player in the past couple of years since a bridge cleverly called the “connector” as it connects us with the rest of the world was built several years ago. Nobody expected this. Somebody’s going to be killed and I don’t plan on being the one.

“Have me arrested,” I said languidly.

“I’m going to,” he said as he began to take out his smartphone.

I was very proud to be standing my ground when I remembered that I didn’t have a phone, ID or money with me, and South Carolina is a stand your ground state. I wasn’t sure if guarding your dumpster counted as a stand your ground defense but I wasn’t going to take any chances. How did I know he wasn’t taking out a gun?

I smiled and told him that I was leaving. Some of the mud had begun to dry up. I walked back to my house. So far Tuesday night has a 0% chance of rain…..