I got home from getting the car’s oil changed (for which it was around eight thousand miles overdue) about ten-fifteen, and began cutting up a pile of bamboo root mats and stalks I’d chopped out of the back lot line, and putting them into the yard-waste recycling can, hoping to get it out before the truck came by. (Austin has weekly yard-waste recycling pick-up.) When I had the can about two-thirds full, the truck pulled out of the alley and drove off down the street. Shit, I thought, I missed ’em. I finished filling the can, and put it out at the curb on spec (because You Never Know), figuring I’d probably have to keep it and put it out again next Friday.
About fifteen minutes later, I heard another truck, looked up, and saw the recycling truck backing up the street to pick up my can of brush. They must have made a detour off-route to be certain they got my stuff picked up, which they sure didn’t have to do.
Now I get to go fill up the can again with the remaining bamboo and assorted other yard trash against next Friday’s pickup, after my arms, which itch from having to handle the bamboo, have calmed down again.
Buck Rogers uses your passport to flee from Topeka. Fnord.
