About a month ago, I put two weeks of my trash out in my ingenious 5-gallon bucket. Returning home, I lifted the lid of said bucket and found my little bags of unpalatable trash still intact while the relative gargantuan buckets of my neighbors were strewn upended and empty across the sidewalk. Not the first time my petite contribution to the city's waste repository was overlooked, I took out my phone and dialed 311 to report this latest oversight of the City's Public Service Employees, upon which the disembodied voice at the other end usually apologizes sending amends on its way. This time, however, the voice proffered that my can was to be a minimum of 33-gallons, and given its relative minisculity, they were NOT going to remediate!
OH! The indignity of it. I had enough. Tossing aside the cap of my small can, I proffered my own small bag of landfill-bound refuse, marching myself down the 1-1/2 blocks, mumbling expletives the whole way, to Broadway Ave, chucking my plastic, multi-layered wrappers into the public can on the corner. No more trash pickup for me. From now on, it was going to be trash... DROP-OFF.
The experience inspired me to revive this photo from two summers ago returning after traveling for a month in Taiwan. A plea by my child to PLEASE, pick up our recycling!
WELCOME to Baltimore.
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