Thursday, August 27, 2009

It's Still There

I like to include pictures as much as possible, but I think you'll thank me for not doing that with this post.

Remember that bat? The one that woke me up from my clothing optional beauty sleep? The one that my landlord killed and then laid to rest in an Amazon box, placed gingerly in the bottom of the trashcan? Because I can be a paranoid person, I had a lot of issues surrounding that trashcan for quite a while. Allow me to share them with you.

The entrance to my apartment is on the side of the house, right next to where the trashcans live. So until trash day, I had to think about that dead bat body in the bottom of that trashcan, less than a foot from my door. I got very very good at keeping my gaze far away from the inside of that can. And then on trash day I had to muster up all my squeamish-girl-living-on-her-own guts and carry that trashcan/coffin to the curb. And then I went to work and spent the whole day imagining what I'd come back home to. What if the garbage men don't shake the can enough and the bat doesn't make it out? What if they throw the can back and it falls over and the bat comes tumbling out onto the curb and I have to see it??? How will I ever manage to bring the trashcan back to it's spot beside the house if it potentially still has a dead bat body in the bottom?!?!?

I avoided this by coming home as late as possible on trash day, increasing the chances that one of the other women downstairs would bring it back for me. And that worked well for a few weeks. Then I realized the trashcan was light enough when it's empty that I can carry it with my arm stretched out far away from me so I can't see inside. And that worked even better. I had no idea whether or not it was still there, and that was fine because I could just pretend it wasn't. I shared all this with my boyfriend and he looked, but I made him promise not to tell me what he did or did not see.

Well the other day I had some junk mail and I thought I'd just toss it in the can rather than take it upstairs. My guard was down, and there were no bags in the can, and I leaned over just a little too far... I saw the box, smashed. I saw something black underneath it, smashed. I stifled a scream and managed not to faint, turned the key and went upstairs to pour myself a stiff drink.


  1. Hahaha, Oh Alissa. This sounds EXACTLY like something I would do/that would happen to me. It's things like this that make being an adult a real pain in the ass.

  2. I know right! I yell at my cats to help out more with bugs and whatever else that freaks me out, but they don't listen. Ungrateful little moochers.