When the news broke several months ago, I was engulfed in happiness that we in Zone 9 would finally receive equal treatment in regard to garbage collection.
Back when garbage was a weekly discussion topic in council chambers, there seemed to be a lack of direction and consensus about front yard or back yard collection.
Eventually in some areas, front yard collection was scrapped and our garbage continued to be hidden from the view of passing motorists and trolley tour tourists.
I don’t think our household favoured one over the other, but there was definitely some disgruntlement in our household when it was determined that because our garbage was only back alley-worthy, we would not receive one of those new-fangled (remember this was a few years ago) green garbage containers.
There was indeed garbage-container envy when friends a few streets over mentioned intentionally in conversation that they were in an area where they were allotted a green bin.
So, we in Zone 9 continued to have our garbage picked up in the alley, leaving it in exposed bags for all the community to observe, if they happened to be driving down that particular roadway.
Because of the rodents and feline creatures roaming the area and because the bags would be exposed to their claws and teeth, we tended to put the bags out only the night before, or on the morning of collection day.
That way, if the critters attacked, we’d only have to pick up the refuse from our own yard, rather than from the public alley way.
But now that we would have our very own bin, with a lid, we could put out the bagged trash whenever it was collected. The bins would deter the interest of anything roaming nearby.
It took what seemed like months before the notice came to our mailbox that in the next week, our green bin would arrive. The brochure even explained how it would need to be positioned to make it easy for the staff to get the bin to that spanky new, skinny garbage collection truck.
Excitement rose to a new level — at least on my part.
Then one day we came home from an excursion to find green bins littering the front lawns and driveways on our block. Some were standing erect with lids open.
The bin on our lawn was on its side, as though it couldn’t stand the idea of living at our address.
We were shocked at this method of delivery. We hadn’t expected ribbons and bows, but certainly we should deserve a bit more celebration than this. Further dimming our excitement was viewing up close that these bins might have been previously enjoyed, or certainly had not been cared for in a manner suitable to their station.
The inside and outside were covered in dust and that piece of something in the corner could not be clearly identified.
With clear disappointment, at least on my part, the bin was rolled to its new location on the grassed area just outside the fence. Maybe the bin was indeed only worthy of back alley scrutiny.
On past garbage days, it was always a matter of conversation regarding what time collection took place, and whether our complete collection of bags would be removed from the area. The limit, of course, was six, based on the number of bags that could fit into a green bin.
Now with a green bin in place, we can’t tell at a glance if our garbage has been removed. The green bin in place means we have to make a trek to physically lift the lid to see if the collectors have collected and whether we met all the rules of garbage collection strategy.
A friend laughed at my exhaustive devotion to garbage collection but I assured her it is simply a healthy interest in wanting to be equally compensated for the amount of money we are taxed to have our refuse removed in a manner that does not discriminate between different areas of the city.
She was not convinced.
So far we haven’t abused the bin by filling it to the brim. We watch carefully to make sure it hasn’t been attacked by determined Prairie winds. And we get some extra steps in on garbage day so the bin is contributing to our physical health.
Some of us in the zone have reason to celebrate, even if no one else can understand my own giddy moment.
Joyce Walter can be reached at [email protected].
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the position of this publication.
