By Carly Smith
Fuck this job. Being a garbage man isn’t as easy as you’d think. I get up early, I miss the best cartoons and talk shows and gather everyone’s shit. I want an adventure.
Some damn kids made a huge mess. They had a bunch of candy wrappers in a ripped plastic bag and they all flew out when I was trying to put the trash in the truck. There were a whole lot of them, too. When I was their age my momma only let me have one piece of candy after dinner. They oughta learn.
Remember those stupid kids? They’re making my life hell. They won’t stop making a mess every time I get the trash! Little fuckers. This time there was all this paper with records on them—like lists and stuff. It had all the names of kids in the neighborhood, their favorite candies, and how much money they owe. Why do they have that info? Back in my day, we didn’t waste time on Excel spreadsheets or Access databases—we beat each other over the head with baseball bats and had good old-fashioned fun. Something weird’s going on.
Never doubt a garbage man’s sense of knowin’ when something is out of place! So, I thought the stuff from the other day was weird, but today made me sure of it. These kids had a long list of transactions in the trash. They were all written in crayon (with, I will admit, a nice illustration of a family in front of a house—they even colored inside the lines!). When I finished my shift I went home and looked at it all. Turns out that a bunch of kids in the neighborhood have been going through sugar withdrawal after their parents stopped letting them all grab candy bars at the grocery store. But one group of kids, the really messy rascals, decided to make a business out of it. I still think they should just slam each other against the lockers and demand lunch money. It’s much simpler that way. But no, these kids have to sell this candy like it’s cocaine or something. I went to the police to let them know of this drug trafficking, but they laughed at me. Mother fuckers.
VICTORY. I knew watching all of those Law and Order reruns wasn’t a waste. My shift started out normal, but when I reached that one house I had a brilliant idea. If the police won’t believe me, then maybe I can get them to believe the kids. All I had to do was grab ‘em, make them admit to what they were doing, and then bring them to the police station. It was almost like taking candy from a baby.
I picked the lock to their front door like how I saw someone do it on TV. The kids were in the office hunched over a PC when I nabbed them. I wrapped them in duct tape because it felt like the situation called for it. Then I dragged the two fuckers to the truck and recorded their confessions on my phone.
When we arrived at the police station, the cops tried to push me out, but they suddenly felt like talking when they saw the duct-taped children. I don’t know what happened to them after that, but they must have thrown them in a cell because all of a sudden they invited me to a bare room with crappy lighting. They’re friendly guys, but I feel like I’m overstaying my welcome here. I don’t know, Diary. Sometimes you’re the only one who gets me.