Last evening as I was standing at the kitchen window, movement in my peripheral vision caused me to look next door. Both stolen trash cans of my weird neighbors were overflowing and white bags were piled to such an extent that the lids were up at a seventy-five-degree angle. I wanted to take a picture but the children were frolicking about, riding bicycles in the driveway and such until it got too dark. This morning, the lids were down so I figured Pop Door-Slammer at last had an ephiphany and either visited the dump or snuck his refuse into a dumpster behind a store or something.

A few hours later, Alan heard this whamming noise and looked out the window. Astonished, he rushed to find me so I could look, too. We watched in detached, puzzled fascination as Pop Door-Slammer repeatedly pounded a large cardboard box, over and over, lifting it up higher than his head and smacking it down upon each trash receptacle in turn. Yep. He was manually compacting the trash.

I continue to be amazed. My trash collectors, All-South Robertson, charge a whopping $12 per month. How hard is it to come up with $12??? If he'd give up one case of cheap beer a weekend, he wouldn't have these problems. If it's that insurmountable an expense, he could drive it to the dump or he could throw it in a dumpster at work, which is what I did when I first bought my house and really didn't have $12 to spare. Instead, he spends a half-hour compacting his garbage with a large cardboard box - which is either the sturdiest cardboard box in existence or full of garbage itself. I am totally flummoxed at the amount of effort and work this man is willing to go to in order to avoid calling a freaking sanitation company and having his trash collected like a normal person.

Here is a photo of his manual-compacting accomplishments. You will note that I wasn't kidding about the Christmas-tree stand being stored OUT IN THE DRIVEWAY.

MONTOYA DELENDA EST!