The Garbage Men Are Here!!!!

Few things were more exciting to me as a child than garbage day. The garbage collectors in the City of St. Louis came through twice each week when I was growing up. Okay, maybe I was merely growing older; I still have no intention of ever actually growing up. I'm a guy so I don't have to!

Garbage days were a huge deal. The garbage collectors came up our street quite early in the morning. This didn't present any problems because I was completely tuned in to the sound of the garbage truck and knew their route so I would never have to miss them.

Everyone had the old galvanized garbage cans back then, and the garbage men did nothing to dampen the sounds of their work. The truck noisily worked its way up the street with two garbage collectors following behind. One would grab the cans from each side of the street and drag them to the back of the truck where they would kind of toss them onto the back of the truck, tip them over to empty them and drop the now empty cans back onto the street. Once emptied, they would gather the cans - we had four kids so we almost always had two cans out front - carry them back to the grassy strip between the curb and the sidewalk, plop them down and toss the lids on top. You could hear them coming for blocks. I can still hear the glorious sounds of their work in my mind.

There was one minor detail that seemed to cause a small disruption in our otherwise relatively peaceful home.

My bedroom faced the back yard.

The garbage truck came by on the street in front of the house.

This meant, of course, that I could not watch them from my windows. The only way I could watch them complete their task was to cross - ever so quietly - into Kim and Beth's bedroom at the front of the house to peek out their window.

I would lie in my bed listening for the sounds of the approaching garbage truck; the excitement building as they came ever closer to our house. I could hardly contain myself by the time they reached the Boyd's house two doors down. I would jump from bed, race across the hall to Kim and Beth's room so I could get to the front window by the time they reached Don's garbage cans next door; all the while shouting, "The Garbage Men Are Here!!!! The Garbage Men Are Here!!!!"

I threw open the shade and I watched with delight as they reached our house and began their ritual of emptying our garbage! My joy was complete if they actually ran the compactor in front of our house!

Twice a week.

Every week.

Somehow Kim and Beth did not share my enthusiasm for the garbage truck. I never understood how they could be so disinterested and, in fact, hostile to the invitation to watch the garbage men as they passed our house.

Those days are only memories now, of course. Somewhere along the way we all switched to plastic garbage cans and then on to the large totes that are automatically dumped into the truck without human intervention. It has become such an un-glamorous job; merely driving the truck from house to house as the boom reaches out from the truck to grasp the can to be lifted and dumped. Even the compactor is hidden from view.

My sons never experienced the joy of watching the garbage men dragging cans into the street and tossing them onto the back of the truck. They never got to stare out the front window, hoping that they would run the compactor at our house!

There simply isn't anything about garbage collection any more to get a boy all fired up; ready to race through the house exclaiming, "The Garbage Men Are Here!!!! The Garbage Men Are Here!!!!"