Some booger-eating, toilet-licking, unkempt goon whose mother never even thought of them, much less loved them, stole my trash can today.
OK, to be fair, I don’t know that that’s what happened. I can only tell you the facts.
1. When I left for work this morning — Trash Day — I had a trash can. It was old, it was mostly broken, but it was mine. And it was lined up between my neighbors’ cans in its usual spot.
2. When I returned home from work briefly, just after the trash was picked up, I still had a trash can. It was still between my neighbors’ cans.
3. When I came home from work this evening, I did not have a trash can. My neighbors still had theirs.
Sometimes I jump to conclusions and I’m bad about expecting the worst from people. One time in high school I was convinced that my parents’ house had been burglarized and the only thing stolen was my Walkman. I later found it between my bed and the wall.
But since I want to be completely fair in my treatment of this trash can issue, I suppose we should explore the other possibilities besides blatant, cold-blooded, lily-livered thievery.
1. It blew away, out of the alley and down the street, never to be seen again. This freakishly strong wind did not affect anything nearby and went unnoticed by me.
2. I pulled it out of the alley myself and then didn’t put it back in its trash can spot. Even though I always put it in its trash can spot and it would be insane to put it anywhere else. Insane.
3. It got sick of my garbage shenanigans and wheeled off into the sunset in search of a better life.
4. It was secretly a Transformer this whole time and had to go take out some Decepticons.
5. Someone innocently believed it was their trashcan and brought it into their house, despite the fact that all the nearby trashcans are approximately 10 zillion times nicer than mine and you’d have to be an idiot not to notice that you had my old crappy one instead of your nice new one.
6. A rat-faced, slack-jawed, walrus-scented, feces-eating, vomit sniffer with the personality of a wet sock stole my trash can.
Do those other options seem remotely likely? With the exception of possibility #2 (because I am and always will be a fool), I don’t think so. Barring a freak gust of wind or a robot war, I think it’s safe to assume that some dumb-as-a-stump, America-hating, sexually transmitted disease of a person who was raised by particularly uncivilized baboons took my trash can. Just took it off the street like they didn’t know that society has rules and stuff.
What could have possessed this miserable fart of a human to do such a thing? What goes through the tiny lizard brain of a sweat stain who would steal someone else’s trash can? Those of us with fully functioning cerebral cortices may never know. But maybe whoever it was had a good reason.
1. The internet strongly believes that junkies are climbing in your alleys, snatching your trash cans up. Hide your garbage bins, hide your compost! Apparently you can make $9 off of the plastic found in a 30-pound trash can on the black market. I don’t know about you guys, but I always thought the black market dealt in much cooler stuff and I’m very disappointed.
2. There’s an unconfirmed rumor that the city charges a steep fee to replace a lost or damaged trash can. So maybe someone decided that they shouldn’t have to pay and I should.
3. Someone might be trying to get revenge on me in the most annoying way possible.
4. As a friend pointed out, maybe they were really hungry and needed my trash can to survive.
5. Maybe my trash can was used in a murder and someone needed to dispose of the evidence.
6. Maybe someone took it for a joyride. I know it’s no Lamborghini, but it has wheels.
7. Maybe a snot-nosed, mouth-breathing, permanently pubescent, greasy-haired, happiness-sucking, smirking psychopath is out to make the world a worse place for people who just want to throw their garbage away. But why me? I’m a good person. I recycle!
I don’t know why it happened. All I know is that I want justice. I’ve seen how long the city takes to deal with things like this and I don’t have time for that. There’s a casserole in my fridge that’s slowly decaying and my trash can is out there in the rain — cold, alone, and hungry for moldy cheese-based foods. I want it back and I want to make sure the person who did this to me never claims another victim.
So I’m typing this in a dark room that overlooks the alley. I’ve heard perps always return to the scene of the crime and I’ll be here all night, watching and waiting. I will find the turd burger who did this and when I do, I will make him pay.