Trashy Tales from a Life Abroad.

October 9, 2012

A few weeks ago, our landlady’s middle-aged daughter called through the fence and mentioned our front yard was looking rather sad. “Can I come over and work on it for you?” she offered, and then promptly walked over with a machete-like knife in hand (along with a few extra gardening tools for LL, who was filthy from digging in the soil with her bare hands). She proceeded to spend the next hour of the blazing afternoon squatting and pulling every last weed from our small plot of underdeveloped garden.

I brought her some muffins the next day as a small token of thanks, and she has since continued to water our little yard every time she is out hosing her own. Sweet, no?

But then things started to get a touch weird when we began noticing our trash being routinely rearranged. I mean, we regularly see the gypsies and their horses carts rummaging through all the trash repositories on the street, and plastic bottles and boxes disappear nearly the second we put them out, but what was our neighbor doing with our stinky bathroom and kitchen bags of unsavory tossables?

Each time we emerged from the house and saw our bags strangely organized and neatly tied into one larger bag, we spawned new theories. Was our neighbor trying to spy on us and regulate any ‘wild’ tendencies she thought we might have? Was she hoping to find treasures of the American sort amongst our discarded mango peels and dirty toilet paper (ew)? Was she just extremely bored? The mystery persisted unsolved.

Then today I gave Y a grand tour of the house and offhandedly mentioned our neighbor’s quirky habit of curating our rubbish. Y consequently explained that because there are so many trash mongers about the city who will paw through the street bins with reckless abandon, if one’s trash is not contained in one or two tidy bags, the collection service will not in fact take the trash.

Oh.

So you don’t simply get to toss your myriad junk bags in the metal holder willy nilly, and as it turns out, our neighbor is not the creep stalker psycho we previously speculated her to be (cynical much, Lo?), but rather a kindly soul looking after the gaggle of clueless American girls.

Ah, the joys of living abroad.

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One Response to “Trashy Tales from a Life Abroad.”

  1. Viv Says:

    trash pickup service still boggles my mind. i guess i’m used to throwing things in a hole and burning them.


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