Remember yesterday when someone put a GIANT FILTHY DILDO on my trash can?
So disturbed by this development was Mr. Chicken that he decided to come home early. I heard the key in the lock around 4:15, and he came in looking glum and concerned.
Earlier, after I called him about the whole sordid incident, he took the name and number of the rival refuse company and gave them a call.
The owner answered, he told me, and was very nice about the whole thing. Turns out he had also been on the truck yesterday, with one other employee and his grandson. He hadn’t seen anything like that, he assured my husband, but he would investigate nonetheless.
He told Mr. C he didn’t stand for monkey business, and apologized in advance of even asking his guys about the whole dildo thing.
We milled around the house for a bit, nonplussed. As he always does when he’s upset, Mr. C turned to his closet for solace. He rummaged around his rainbow of ties and shirts, making new outfit combinations.
(No, he isn’t gay. But he is a dandy.)
After another half-hour of going over the whole GIANT FILTHY DILDO situation, I told him that I felt safer when we lived in a city where someone was being killed every 15 minutes about a mile from our home.
Here, I said, I felt much more exposed. The open field in back, the glass in the back door …
“One of these days we’re going to wind up like the Clutter family,” I said, peeking out the bedroom window to see the offending trash can mocking me from the drive.
“Yeah,” my husband replied morosely, standing there in his boxers and undershirt. He scratched one pit and sniffed. “Why do I stink today?”
That remark did me in and I insisted we go out for dinner. Dildos on trash cans sap me of my dinner-making energies.
We walked out to the car and Mr. C strolled to the end of the driveway. Hands on hips, he shook his head.
“We have to get rid of this thing,” he said. “It is so embarrassing.”
I directed him to a roll of trash bags on a shelf and he proceeded to remove the GIANT FILTHY DILDO. He opened the lid of the can to toss it in and revealed …
Our garbage. Still in the can.
We just looked at each other.
What the FUCK?
So our garbage guys pointed the finger at another company, a very specific person. They told us they had been there, and that the GIANT FILTHY DILDO wasn’t there when they showed up to take our trash away yesterday.
BUT OUR TRASH WAS STILL IN THE CAN.
“Jesus Christ,” I said. “What the hell is going on here?”
This morning I called our company and spoke to the owner’s son again. He had an “ah-ha” moment in which he suddenly remembered that oh, yeah, our can wasn’t out when they came by.
Oh, yes, yes it was.
Whatever. I was done. I crisply told him I didn’t care any longer but that he sure as shit was coming back today to get my trash. And that I expected to never have a conversation like this with him again AS LONG AS I LIVED.
I suspect the whole incident was a kind of April Fool’s prank gone bad between these two companies, and we were the unwitting victims. I’m guesing that no one wanted to ‘fess up to leaving a GIANT FILTHY DILDO in a paying customer’s garbage can.
I also suspect that when the time comes for Mr. Chicken to look for his next job, that I will strongly suggest to him that we live in a city that offers municipal trash disposal. Government employees are way too uptight to use GIANT FILTHY DILDOS, or at the very least they are discreet enough to dispose of them privately.
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This does not look good for any of the trash disposal companies. I’m feeling to queasy for this.
Wow. I have no words for this. You should write a letter to your town paper or something, and mention the garbage company names.
It is inexcusable.
Yeah the whole thing is just ludicrous.
Hey, can your dandy husband come over and teach my knit wit how to dress?
Okay, I’ve never liver anywhere, but places with private trash collection. That said, never have I had the woes you’ve run into. Gah!
I have to admit the whole situation is pretty hillarious. I gave you an award for it on my blog.
Here’s hoping you have a dildo-free day.
This will make the best NG letter to the editor EVER. Please, please clean it up a bit (the story, not the dildo) and send it off.
Oh, my flipping Christ.
I feel so badly for you.
And I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard in a long, long time.
I hope that idiot at the garbage company came to get your trash.
I suggest switching collection companies.
I agree with AL, this would make an awesome letter to the paper.
You could keep it, turn it into a planter and sell it at the flea market. It should be good for a few bucks at least.
I have one word:
EW.
Good thing your husband isn’t Governor. Can you imagine the publicity?
Wow, those guys aren’t the brightest are they?
I just have no words.
Duh. Duh.
[those are the Law & Order noises]
Cra-azy.
CRAZY!
You have to write a letter to the paper about this – it’s GOLD!
Wow, that is very disturbing and gross! It is definately one unsolved mystery that I would want to keep that way. However, as for the trash collectors, I would give them hell. Totally lied to you. Paying for a service, they are not only not doing their job, but lying too.
Glad you went out to dinner.
Umm… as soon as my trash got picked up, I’d be cancelling my account and switching companies. Maybe even to the company that apologized in advance to Mr. Chicken. I agree – this sounds like an April Fool’s prank gone horribly wrong and you should speak directly to the owner about his son’s actions.
Wow, that’s just unbelievable…
I also hope it was a prank meant for somebody else.
As much as I share your horror, a tiny part of me wishes that wacky stuff like that happened to us.
We seem to live in a weird bubble of our own making.
Okay, seriously, I have been thinking about this since you posted about it.
And I know that makes me sound like a total perv. Whatevs.
Dude – I don’t really understand how your trash system works down there in the US of A, but I’d be raising HOLY HELL about this (while silently thanking them for the most excellent fodder). I can’t believe your trash wasn’t picked up, and then they tried to say it wasn’t at the curb? Oooooh no they DIDN’T…
I live in a big city and I talk all the time how much safer I feel here than I ever would in some suburb where I’m not surrounded by a million people every single minute of the day. If that happened to my trash, I’d have a hundred old ladies calling my house and giving me an exact description of the perv who decided that putting a dildo on someone’s can (ha! I’m totally not editing that, but I didn’t mean it to come out that way!) was a great idea.
That is all so wierd.
If you want a trash co. recommendation in Chambana, I’ve got one for you–Dale Levitt (they are in the phone book).
While they purport to have policies on number of cans, etc. . . . they don’t enforce them (when we moved here we put out tons of crap for them to haul away and they always took it, ditto for big garage and basement clean-outs). And (I feel so guilty admitting this and will probably call them this afternoon to request a bill) but we haven’t received a bill from them since AUGUST. They used to send us a bill for $30 that covered 3 months of pre-paid service, but despite still providing regular trash pickup, we never get a bill.
Oh and the one time our trash co. forgot to pick up our trash, I called them that afternoon and they apologized profusely and sent a truck over within minutes.
I’m with you on the fact that trash should be a municipal service–what else do we get by living in Urbana? To add to your rant–what’s up with having to pay a municipal recycling bill when I already pay an insane property tax bill for our very modest home?
That’s just crazy. About the sorriest april fool’s joke ever.
When I read these two posts, I just had to de-lurk.
I laughed so hard when I saw the picture that my boss actually came out of her office to see what was so funny. Fortunately, I always have a handy cover story about LOLCats.
Now. That being said, it is gross and weird that your trash company did that to you. Prank or no prank, that is some odd stuff right there. Also?
It is also weird that you have to arrange your own trash pickup. Seriously, the Muni pickups just aren’t this wacky. Sometimes our trash guys leave a branch or two, or the odd bit of paper falls out of the can, but they’ve never left us…um…gifts of such a personal nature. Ick.
I would miss you talking about GIANT FILTHY DILDOs if you moved anywhere else.
Fascinating how both owners just happened to be on trucks in your neighborhood on the same day. That sounds totally plausible. And talk about insult to injury with leaving your garbage there, and then calling you a liar.
OMG! I just finished both of these posts and I have never heard of such a disgusting thing!
You need to take that thing and bury it in the yard with some spare change and other tokens. Bury it nice and deep so it won’t be found for another 500 years or so and just imagine the look on the face of whoever digs it up and the puzzlement they’ll go through to explain whatever other objects are buried with it.
Okay Okay, I cannot stop laughing. Your telling of the tale is to brilliantly hilarious!