Because I definitely do.
“Oh, shoot!” my mom exclaims, pulling me out of my thoughts. “I forgot it was Thursday! Damn hospital stay’s got me all thrown off!”
“Okay…?”
“Don’t you hear the truck outside?” she yells, panicked. “It’s almost five o’clock!”
I scrunch up my nose and strain hard to listen, a thud followed by the sound of a heavy-duty engine revving up confirming that there is, indeed, a truck outside. “Help me out here, Mom. I’m still missing the point. What happens on Thursday at five o’clock?”
“The trash pickup! We have to get the can out to the curb,” she says, voice moving a mile a minute, and when she starts to place her hands on the couch cushions to stand up, I step toward her and gently shove her back down.
“You stay there. I’ll take out the can, Mom.”
She shakes her head manically. “Hurry, Carly, hurry! You’re going to miss it!”
Good Lord. Before I even know it’s happening, her panic is my panic, and I’m shoving my feet into my sandals so hard I jam a toe. I haven’t even changed out of my pajama shorts and tank top today, given the fact that we haven’t left the house, and my boobs are free from a bra. But there’s no time to waste, apparently.
“Go, Carly, go!”
“My God, Mom!” I yell as I run. “Do you have a bomb in your garbage? What happens if we miss them?”
“You don’t want to find out!” she screeches. “Go, go, go!”
There are so many terrifying things about what she just said, but I ignore it and grab the trash from the kitchen and bathrooms as fast as I fucking can. I’m a woman on a mission, and I’m pretty sure if I pull this off, Marvel is going to name a new superhero after me.
I yank open the door to the garage, hit the button to lift the overhead door, and do a running jump over the three platform steps to the concrete floor.
It stings my heels a little since I’m only in a flimsy sandal, but I push onward anyway, to the waiting can at the back end of the garage.
With a whip of my wrist, I force the lid open enough to toss the new bags inside, and then grab the handle on the big tote, kick out the bottom with my foot, and take off at a run with the can dragging behind me.
Back and forth, it sloshes sloppily on its wheels, the speed I’m trying to maintain just a little too much for the plastic setup to handle.
But the truck is pulling away from the unit next door, the house after my mother’s, and with the way Stella talked this up, I’m pretty sure the world is going to end if I can’t flag them down.
“Wait!” I yell, throwing a hand up in the air like a lunatic and running out onto the pavement to chase the truck. “Wait, wait, please! I have garbage!” I yell. “Very important garbage!”
My boobs are like a couple of wrestling puppies under a blanket, just trying to work their way out the sides of my tank as I bound down the street, my wild, bucking bronc of a can behind me.
“Please! I have to get rid of this, or my mother’s going to blow up the neighborhood!” I scream nonsensically.
Thankfully, though, the brake lights on the truck flash red once and then illuminate continuously as they stop at the next set of units. I don’t slow my pace, taking the can off-roading a little bit, up and over the curb so I can get alongside the truck.
I wave my free hand enthusiastically, and when the driver of the truck comes into view, he’s laughing.
“Oh my God,” I wheeze, sucking in air like I don’t ski down mountains for a living. My Lord, the off-season is a bitch on my endurance. “Did you know I was there the whole time?” I accuse. “Were you just toying with me?”
The driver chuckles again before shrugging. “You put on an impressive show, but I only just saw you.”
I nod, putting my hands to my knees briefly to catch my breath while he uses the truck mechanism to lift the can from the curb of this unit and shake it empty.
“Just drag your can up there so I can grab it with the arm,” he instructs cheekily, the smug, truck-riding bastard.
I nod, get my shit together, and drag the can the rest of the way, up and off the curb again and down onto the pavement so he can get it.
I watch as the arm of the truck comes out and clenches it, lifting it over the back and shaking out the bags, easy as that.
The driver waves me back over to the can once the arm is clear and then leans out the window a little more as I drag it back by him.