The Trashing of the Senses

2024

At breakfast one Friday morning my wife was telling me all about her, well, our, plans for Saturday. She, or rather, we, were planning a bit of a cocktail party with 4 or 5  of our couple friends. It was all set to be a minor success; instead of sitting around drinking beer and talking with friends casually and comfortably, the plan was to stand around drinking martinis while talking formally and awkwardly with friends and their spouses. It was no one’s idea of a balling good time, but my wife has fanciful ideas sometimes and I try not to be a stick in her mud.

“I better get going,” she said with one final bite of jammed toast in her mouth. “Everything is ready for tomorrow. The only thing I need to Ask of you is to put out the garbage. I forgot to do it last night. Just remember that the garbage truck usually comes around noon, so get it out there as soon as you can, kay?”

“Yeah no problem,” I said. “I’ll do it right away.”

“Thanks hun,” she said, taking her keys out of her purse. “I’ll see you at four.”

I listened as the front door opened and shut. “Goodbye honeypie,” I said, yawning behind my hands.

Glancing down at her breakfast plate, I picked up the final scrap of toast and plopped it in my mouth. How does she eat this? It tastes like nothing.

After staring at the chair she had vacated, I got up, not fully, just enough to take me the 5 steps over to the couch. 

“What the hell is even in a martini?” I thought out loud. “Liquor and olives and toothpicks? Is it Vodka and Sprite, or gin and carbonated water? Who likes that crap?”

Suddenly I woke up on the couch where I sat. My phone said it was just after 10am. For over two hours I had been sleep sitting. Better get started on my chores. Only item on the agenda: take out the trash. Easy enough, it’ll take four minutes. I stood up and ambled over to the kitchen, using the walls, chairs, and doorframe to help hold me up, taking some of the load off of my tired legs. The way I see it is, What is the point of arms if they’re just going to dangle there adding weight that your legs have to carry? They might as well carry their share whenever possible. 

I got to the kitchen and saw that the garbage under the sink was about half full. Why did she want me to take this out? Ever since they stopped giving out plastic bags at stores we’ve had to pay for our garbage bags . I wasn’t about to waste half a store-bought plastic bag. This garbage didn’t even smell bad. So what garbage was she talking about? I checked each of the two bathrooms, the bin by the front door, and the little receptacle in our bedroom that collects tissues and cotton balls and candy wrappers. But they were all empty, freshly changed with new bags. Now what are the chances that all of these garbage cans got full at the same time? There must have been some available space in some of those bags, and she’s just gone and wasted it. I wasn’t going to raise a stink about this though. You gotta pick your battles. Pick your battles and grit your teeth. 

I sat back down on the couch to fumigate about man’s universal struggle over woman’s inability to value a dollar. “Thirteen dollar conditioner,” I mumbled to myself. “For 135 stinking milliliters… Four and a half dollars more for name brand Advil when store brand ibuprofen is literally the same damn product…”

I awoke in the same spot as earlier to the sound of an incoming text message from my wife. I read it slowly, as my tired eyes had trouble focusing. “Hey honey, just checking, did you take out the garbage yet? Luv u.” It was 11am.

What am I, an idiot? I can't take out the trash without being harassed about it? “Yes,” I sent back. Then I felt like an idiot. Why didn’t I ask what garbage? Now I can't even ask that. 

I felt my phone vibrate again, but for some reason it did so silently this time. “It’s the garbage bin in the garage by the way. It’s totally full.”

Of course! How could I have spaced out on that? Obviously it’s the bin in the garage. She wouldn’t’ve expected me to walk all over the house and gather trash from every room. I sent her back a quick response, “Yes I know,” and got up and headed to the garage.

It was dark in there, a lot darker than it should have been, given that there was a window and it was the middle of a sunny day. I could hardly see the garage door from the doorway where I stood. “Must be some sort of eclipse today,” I thought to myself. Stepping into some flip flops, I made my way over to the bins. But which one was for trash? They all looked the same. How did I do this before? I stood there a minute before deciding to open the bins and feel around inside each one. This one had a bunch of bags tied neatly shut, so I chose that one. I fumbled around for the garage door opener and clicked it open. She must have oiled those wheels recently, because it opened with absolutely no sound. 

On the other side of the garage door stood a wall of darkness no eye could pierce. I stepped one foot outside the garage and it disappeared altogether, as if swallowed by a thick black smog. I pulled it back and it reappeared, coming slowly back into focus. Well this was certainly strange, but I had a job to do, and I had already said that I’d done it. 

I figured if I was going to venture out into the total darkness I should at least bring a stick of some kind. I went fumbling around for a hockey stick but found a golf club instead. Gripping the club by the head, I tapped the rubber handle around like a white cane. I’d seen blind people do this before. Can't be that hard. So I grabbed the bin with my free hand and stepped both feet out of the garage. It was only about 25 steps to the curb, so I figured if I just walk in a straight line then I should get there, feel the curb with my foot, leave the bin, and then walk right back. But as soon as I was outside the garage I became immobilized with fear. I had zero direction. I took three tiny steps forward and instantly forgot which way to the curb and which way back to the house. I turned around and saw that the house was gone, swallowed by the darkness. I was in the middle of outer space and all I brought was a golf club and a bunch of trash. 

A brilliant idea came to me just then. I would walk till I found the edge of the driveway and then follow its perimeter to the curb and then back to the house. So I walked forward, moving an inch with each step. I tapped the golf club on the ground in front of me, but I still found I was afraid of running into something or hitting my head. Finally I felt soft ground beneath my feet. I paused. Reaching down I felt it was grass. But how did I miss the edge of the driveway? 

“OK,” I thought. “No matter, I’ll just turn and retrace my steps.” So I turned what felt like 180 degrees and started walking again. It took a lot longer than I expected, but eventually I came back to the concrete. By this point I realized my plan wouldn’t work. I needed something better than a golf club. I needed a rope I could tie to something in my garage and then hold until I got to the curb. That way, once I dropped off the bin, I could just follow the rope back home and be done with this cursed task. So I fumbled my way back to the garage and was surprised at how quickly I found it. But why was it closed? I froze. Someone must have snuck in and closed it. I was probably in the middle of being robbed this very minute. What could I do? 

Thinking quickly, I knew I had to do something about this garbage. I waved the golf club around, desperately searching for some sort of solution. The club fell upon the fence. “perfect,” I mumbled. So I dumped the bin over the fence and set it aside. It was all in bags; it’s not like I was dumping a biohazard. I could always come back and clean it up after this eclipse was over. 

So I dumped it and then started to follow the garage to the front door. I would go inside and confront the burglar and make him leave, or I would die defending my property, even if I was a renter. I found the front door and opened it. But before I could take a step inside, Someone grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me back. I received another violent shove which sent me stammering backwards until I tripped, landing hard on my spine and tailbone. Then someone was on top of me, their arm pinning me down across my neck. They made no sound and said nothing, but I could feel their hot breath on my face. After a minute or two, they got up and left me lying on the driveway.

A little bruised and confused, I soon stood back up and tried to regain entry to my house. When I found the front door again, I started kicking frantically at the doorknob and tried to bash it down with my shoulder and the full force of my body behind it. I don’t know how long I was at it, trying to break the door down. But pretty soon it happened again. With absolutely no notice, I was being accosted from behind, except this time handcuffs were slapped on my wrists and I was smacked with a baton on the backs of the legs and shoulders. Then I was forced into a car and driven away.   

When his wife came home from work that day, she was greeted in her driveway by her neighbour, Igor, who had been waiting by his window for her to come home. “Hello Igor,” Candice said to him as she stepped out of her car. She frowned as her eyes fell upon her full garbage bin standing next to her garage.

“Hi Candice,” said Igor as he approached her, stepping across the wide strip of lawn that separated their identical houses. He stopped next to the passenger door of her car and addressed her over the hood. “I have something very difficult to tell you.” He looked around for some sort of social cue that meant it was ok to continue, and then awkwardly continued. “Your husband is a madman. He came over to my yard today with his garbage bin and a golf club, dumped his trash on my driveway, waved his club at us, and then tried to break into my house. All while my kids and I were playing hockey in the driveway. He was kicking at my front door and smashing into it with his body. It was very scary for us.”

Candice looked puzzled. “He dumped the garbage bin on your driveway?”

“Yes,” replied Igor. “Reached right over the hockey net as we were playing and dumped the trash right in front of the net, as if just to spoil our game.”

“And you said he had a golf club?” Candice pressed on.

“Yes, he used it like some sort of walking stick at first. It was weird when you think about it, but in the moment it was just  terrifying.”

“Did he say anything?” asked Candice. “Did you say anything to him”?

“Yes of course. When he came over we said ‘Hi neighbour,’ but he didn’t say anything. And when he tried to enter my house I yelled a little, ‘Hey what are you doing?’ and still he said nothing. You know, it almost seemed like he couldn’t hear me.”

“I know the feeling,” replied Candice.

There was a pause as both neighbours were deep in thought.

“So what happened in the end?” asked Candice. “Where is he now?”

“The police took him away,” answered Igor. “I had to call them. It was the only thing that made him stop beating on my door.”

Candice rubbed her face with her palms. “Well,” she began. “Thanks for telling me all this, and sorry about what happened here. I’m sure there’s some sort of explanation.” She stood there for a minute in silent contemplation, briefly catching Igor’s eye before looking away. Then she went slowly into her house, and Igor went slowly into his.

END