The 100 yard recycle truck dash.
Yesterday morning I was enjoying our first true morning of summer vacation, we had no commitments and we could take our sweet time getting up.
After the kids were fed breakfast I went back upstairs and lolled about in bed. After a long while I heard a noise, the distinctive sound of a large truck coming to a stop on our street. As I listened to the whoosh and screech of the brakes I wondered why a truck was on our street. It was an oddly familiar sound.
Then it hit me, today was recycle day and that was the truck.
I hurriedly changed out of my pajamas and rushed down stairs. I jammed shoes on my feet and dashed out to the garage and grabbed the recycle bin. The kids were stunned by my rapid appearance and subsequent disappearance. They asked my retreating form what was going on and I replied “recycle truck!” and ran down the driveway with the bin.
The truck was out of sight at the end of the cul de sac. I dropped the bin next to the mailbox and sprinted back for the bags of paper.
Jake and Rebecca, meanwhile, had spilled out of house and were watching me in wonder. As I approached the garage I told them to move aside and for once they listened. I tore through the garage and into the house. I leaned over the gate blocking the entrance to the dining room and grabbed the two bags of paper. A few sheets fluttered to the ground as I whirled around and retraced my mad dash back to the mailbox.
I reached the end of the driveway just as the truck came to a wheezing stop. After our bin was emptied I handed over the bags. The man thanked me and asked if I needed to get more. I replied no, this was it.
He nodded his head and we went our separate ways.
Whoot! I had beat out the truck!
In reality I could have hauled it all to the dump myself, it’s not that hard.
It was just another day in suburbia and the Suburban Olympics.