Dumpster

Dumpster

November 2, 2003



I finished dinner. Had nothing special or unusual, a pinwheel steak. Something I probably eat three times a week. I began washing dishes and then immediately raced out to the dumpster to throw out the garbage. Most people can wait until the next morning. But not me.

I have an obsession with it. Every morning when I wake up, I take the hangar that held my dress shirt to the Dumpster. Its not like I need to save it. The shirt will be on a new one when I pick it up from the cleaners. More things for me to bring to the dumpster.

I really don’t understand why I am so into going to the Dumpster. Makes no sense to me. Some people keep a bag or garbage can for recyclables and wait till it fills to bring it to the dumpster. Not me. I take the stuff out instantly. There is no waiting.

I do know it runs in the family. My grandfather, an 83 year old man who calls himself Joe Nelson, not his real name. Why he uses this moniker, no one really knows. We can’t say its old age-he’s been doing this for way too many years. Anyway, Joe Nelson spends a great deal of his time at the incinerator in his Sheepshead Bay apartment building.

In his household, the second dinner is complete, grandma scrubs the dishes and gives Joe the orders to take out the garbage. Within minutes the kitchen is immaculate, despite the lack of counter space. But most important, the garbage is out of the apartment.

Where he lives, it’s a nightly ritual for him to go straight to the incinerator. At one point in his building, the lobby floor had a special room for recyclables. It contained a dumpster. Regular trash could also be dumped at that location. He spends quite a bit of time in that room too. He writes notes on the door of the incinerator telling residents to be careful when they dump their trash. Every building has one of those.

I lived for a short time in Queens. Just like Joe, I spent quite a bit of time going to the incinerator and to the basement where there were dumpsters set up for plastics, paper and metals. It was a ritual. Our building also had someone who wrote notes on the door of the incinerator. I do hope I never reach that level. As much as I love the Dumpster and taking out the garbage, I don’t want to be the warden of it. But time will tell.

Often my grandparents come over to mom’s on Sunday afternoons. Mom usually makes burgers and dogs. One time, the second we were finished eating, grandma nudged him with a nod toward the garbage can and said that needs to go out.

“We don’t worship garbage,” mom said.


My sister lives only two buildings away from me and often lets me know when she has things that need to go to the dumpster and I rush over to her apartment. Heaven forbid I miss a chance to go the Dumpster. I am not sure there is a sincere explanation for my love of the Dumpster.

So, what is it about taking out the garbage? I just don’t know.