Bulk Trash Day at Fort Chapman.
We have a new trash company here in my tony little Northern California burg and thus a new rubric regarding Bulk Trash. This is the stuff--like mattresses and pieces of Mom's old chairs--that embarrass my sister when she spots me, dressed entirely in black, hauling, on moonless nights, into my favorite local dumpster.
None of that, you guys!
No longer is there need for Ninja clothing and subterfuge. Bulk Trash has become so respectable it has its own days and its own receptacle(s)!
Bulk trash expert, Mr. Estrada, launches his crane.
Mission Trail Waste Systems (Fr. Junipero Serra had no idea how far his trail would go) drops off two big bags, each able to hold two cubic yards of Bulk Trash, and you have a week to fill them up. It takes a little maneuvering to get the cloth-y type bags to stand up, but once I got an old pink (broken) dresser that even the Salvation Army rejected into the bottom of one and a faux Spanish-revival (broken) chair in the bottom of another I was on my way.
The best part comes on pick up day. You get to watch this cool truck make it all go away.
So deft, he managed to avoid my deodara cedar.
The truck pulls up, its crane shoots out, and, whoosh: off went the toothless rake (an ancient garden tool, not an Old Boyfriend); off went the bed slats we forgot to sell with the bed (makes me think of that scene in the Great Escape); goodbye, goodbye, to the Alien-looking TV antenna I just removed from the roof---up they went on the crane and on into Bulk Trash Oblivion.
Better yet, I noticed the ingenious truck with its handy crane was an American-made Peterbilt and it was a hybrid! I looked it up and discovered that it also has some complex way of using its braking fluid to save up for later to launch its crane. Is America a great country, or what?
"Bulk Trash, swayin' in the summer breeze ..."
My father the engineer, who loved interesting trucks and equipment of all kinds, would have enjoyed the show that took place in front of his house. I'm sorry he missed it.
He would have been sorry, however, to see some of that stuff go. I know a lot of it would still have seemed useful to him. He always thought I was a wasteful wastrel.
I guess I am. Why else would it give me such a thrill to kiss that toothless rake goodbye?
Mr. Estrada pauses to pose with his cool truck.
Subscribe to Robin Chapman News