The Garbage Man

Genre: Short story
Written: August 29, 2009
Word count: 728

At 3:00 AM I met the garbage man, and by 3:11 he was just another memory. I was sitting on the cold pavement of the curb, blowing soft clouds of white vapor with my mouth when he came. He drove up the street in an eerily quiet truck and shuddered to a stop in front of my apartment. He was humming softly to the tune of "Amazing Grace" as he picked up my putrid can of leftover dinners, unpaid bills, and molding yogurt containers. He sniffed the air with vigor, and smiled with a modest satisfaction.

"Yes, sir. It's a good day. Yes, sir it is."

I stirred a little, not knowing if he had just addressed me.

"Yes, sir, I can see ya. Yes, sir I can."

He started humming again. The night decided to throw a little chill in the air, and I tugged my jacket closer to my chest.

"Whatcha doin' on a night like this? Lonely as hell. Dark as hell. Hell! You're probably the only one out here. Yes, sir, just you and me on the streets. On the streets all alone."

I sat there mute, not knowing how to respond, and feeling a strange sensation of wanting to bare my soul to an utter stranger who collected all the unwanted things of life. He stood there for a moment, decided I was not going to answer, turned around and started walking towards his truck.

"Yes, sir, it's an excellent day for the garbage man. But a man shouldn't be alone. A fine man like yourself shouldn't be alone. No, sir, fine men should not be alone on a night like this."

He suddenly turned around and faced me with a violent grin that made a small part of my stomach fold.

"No, sir, you should not be alone."

His oily face was framed by his slightly matted, damp hair that fumed with the vapors of the city. His clothes were stained by every excrement no one wanted, and his shoes were damp with the juices of week-old lunches and spoiled milk. His entire being reeked of the garbage of the cities, and he repulsed me. I turned away, ashamed at my disgust. When I looked up, his smile had gone. Some part of me knew that I would never see it again.

"I do this for you, ya know. Yes, sir, I do this for everyone. Someone's gotta do it, and yes, sir, I suppose it's gotta be me. You learn a lot about people through their trash, ya know that? Yes, sir what everyone doesn't want, is what everyone does truly want deep inside. I know more about every one of ya than any of ya ever care to admit. Yes, sir, I'm a goddamn factory of information on you all. That apartment right there," he yelled as he pointed to the complex above mine, "They're going through a divorce. They don't even bother to shred those types of papers! Yes, sir, they're going through some tough times and I bet you didn't even know it. You see that one over there?" He continued to yell, his volume swelling, "Yes, sir, I suspect that there be some abuse goin' on in that place. That one, sir! Yes, that one! Someone just died there. Ya know that? Ya know that someone died there?" He panted slightly with exertion and wiped the bead of sweat that had formed near his hairline with the back of his wrist. “No, sir, I bet you didn’t know a damn thing about anyone.”

He gave me one final look of disdain, jumped in his truck, and drove away. I sat on the curb, horribly ashamed at the one way conversation that had transpired between me and this man I had never met. I looked up at the apartments he had pointed out, and became repulsive in my own eyes. It was a lonely night, and I was an abhorrence to myself. I wondered who had died, and cursed that no names came to mind. I cursed into the air and knew that I was alone. For the next week I stood on the curb, waiting for the garbage man, but he never came back. He never came back, and the garbage of my life sat festering, rotting on the curb, and I knew that I was alone.