Suburban Living

Living where we now do entitles me to an exceptionally large trashcan. Forget metal dumpsters that you have to trundle bags of trash a block or so away to, I have my very own plastic container of waste disposing joy. This trashcan, all dolled up in hunter green with a little black roof, is larger than several places I’ve lived in the past; in other words, it could easily sleep 12 quite comfortably. It’s the grand daddy of all garbage cans.

Like most places in America a large dump truck prowls the streets to help us get rid of our waste on a weekly basis… well, that’s unless you live in my neighborhood. We get waste removal services twice a week. That’s right! Welcome to my suburban utopia – a place where you’re not forced to deal with trash more than 4 days a week (and everyone is named Julie).

Now, I’m completely convinced my neighbors are pigs. I mean that in the nicest way, of course. Twice a week like clockwork the Julie piglets roll out their trash condos and arrange them neatly on the street. I’m sure Jay and I are quite the scandal since we only feel the need to make that particular trek once a week.

By 5pm that afternoon all the trashcans are tucked back away, out of eye site as per the HOA rules. What’s odd is that I see these trashcans more than I see the owners of the homes. The theory I’m working on is that the Julies are too busy creating trash to make it past their doors. How can they be bothered with outdoors when they’ve got a tremendous duty to fill these bottomless plastic tubs? The only flaw with this theory is that all of the neighbor’s lawns are immaculate so some how, some way the lawns are being tended to. Nanobots – it’s the only explanation – they’re tiny and difficult to see with the naked eye. Whoever created the Stepford Julies with their obsession with creating and disposing of trash also created these tiny little robotic yard perfectionists.

Living in the suburbs is hard. I don’t want to be a Julie; however, I could really use some yard nanobots.

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