I hear a distant rumble, like a heavily laden train grinding up an unforgiving mountain pass. The rumble grows louder while my subconscious tries to identify the sound threatening to tear me from blissful slumber. I drift along in REM sleep embarked on a dream where unicorns cavorted among rainbows with Sasquatches (Sasquatchi?), Yetis, fiscally conservative politicians, and other mythical creatures. I feel peaceful and contemplative until hearing that distant disturbance. The sound grows louder threatening to smash the rainbows into millions of tiny shards of dashed hopes. The sound is reminiscent of a bad ‘60s Godzilla movie soundtrack combined with a legion of leaf blowers harmonizing MC Hammer’s “Don’t Touch This”. Sleep was stripped away in a raw violent cascade of decibels to leave me gasping and disorientated, the unicorns riding off into the sunset, politicians clinging to their backs like remoras on the backs of sharks.
My vision was blurry, my throat felt dry from the panic caused by the abrupt awakening, and my bladder protested loudly. I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen dew, gave the luster of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, not a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, but a belching, shrieking behemoth with “Pleasanton Garbage Service” emblazoned on its side.
My eyes recoiled at the site of this filth-laden beast, spewing smoke and a cacophony of noise drowning out the howls of neighborhood hounds. I looked at my watch to understand the utter depravity of this monster and the ugly, soul crushing time of 5:20AM blinked back at me. My brain tried to comprehend how the PGS beast could unleash its fury at such an unholy hour while other less intrusive activities like lawn mowing, outdoor music, and construction work were prohibited before normal humans woke.
I have been reliving this waking nightmare for the past 14 years. Our garbage, recyclables, and yard waste are collected every Friday morning starting at 5:20AM. The demonic alarm clock goes off at the hour of the dead, not to be snoozed or shut off until the bulging beasts of debris have passed by my home six times to relieve us of our week’s waste products. Since our home is situated on a corner, we enjoy the devil’s symphony three times as it passes our abode, then three more times as it passes by our neighbors across the street. As an added bonus, we reside close enough to a cul-de-sac whereby we are treated to a side dish of sound from the demon collecting the contents of our neighbors cans interspersed with the main crash course of dread from our own garbage collection.
I’ve asked the voices in my head numerous times through the years why the PGS does not alternate the pickup routes in order to share the joy with all Pleasanton residents. I wondered who those lucky souls were who had Thursday afternoon trash pickups where only narcoleptics and graveyard shift workers were disturbed. On a few occasions, I compiled my thoughts and phoned the PGS Customer Service line seeking to offer constructive feedback on how they could be a better community partner. When I suggested routes be changed periodically, maybe every decade or so, the customer service representative delightfully informed me trash pickup did not commence before 6AM anywhere in Pleasanton. I stared at the phone dumbfounded, mentally checked my clocks thinking I had forgotten to switch to Daylight Saving Time 14 years ago when we moved to Pleasanton, thought back to the past Friday morning and recalled the siren song starting before sunup, and finally consulted my trusty smartphone which proudly showed the correct time. I attempted to convey my version of the actual time of garbage pickup in my neighborhood, but the helpful agent was not to be swayed by my protestations. She did, though, offer me a new blue sticker for my recyclables bin. Fearing a protracted call with the agent, knowing it was being monitored to improve customer service, and wary my garbage pickup may move to 4:30AM just out of spite, I quickly thanked her and hung up, taking solace that the call was not a complete waste of time.
Since having children, 5:30AM does not seem as early as it once did. The beast still visits us every Friday morning, the unicorns flee, the dogs still bark, but I try to take it in stride. I greet my bleary eyed neighbors as we fetch our papers and return our bins to their resting places. We shuffle back to our homes thanking the garbage Gods our pickup is Friday morning and not Monday morning when the week would be started with the beast driving through our hopes and dreams and crushing the happiness from our souls, making babies cry, and destroying any chance for an easy entry into a productive, engaged and graceful week. We smile internally at our good fortune and pity those poor souls.
