From what I have seen, children are extremely fond of watching the garbage truck roar past the house every week. There is something about the noise, the routine, and probably the rubbish that intrigues them no end. On our street, both trucks are usually done and dusted by 7:30am. Matisse likes to 'sleep in' until 6:30am in the Dry Season, but she will eagerly jump out of bed when she hears that truck.
At about 8:30 this morning, I put Elsie down for her morning nap. She protested for a few minutes because she is trying to convince me that she does not need to sleep, but I am more stubborn in my quest to prove I am the boss. She finally drifts off. Immediately, all the dogs on the street start barking. Not your paced slow bark conversation that is most common; that mad, chaotic, charging at the fence barking they do when there is a dog on the loose. The noise was penetrating my skull. Naturally, I had to stand on the balcony, directly above Elspeth’s room, and yell at the top of my lungs to be even louder than they were, in order to get the attention of Leo so he would come and get punished. For anyone following my instagram, it would have been difficult to avoid me whinging about being sick yesterday. Yelling at Leo cost my voice box. So if nothing else today, at least I will feel like a highly distinguished bogan.
After some time Elspeth finally goes back to sleep. In the distance, I ignore that familiar stop, start, compression braking noise; until it rounds the corner and comes onto our street, TWO HOURS BEHIND SCHEDULE! We live on one of the very few “hills” in Darwin, and the trucks really struggle to get up our street, everyone knows about it because the noises coming out of the truck as it perseveres up the tiny hill rival a man with the man flu. Today was the absolute worst I have ever witnessed. The driver must have been a learner and he required three attempts to take off from the house across the road, (approx 5 meters in front of Elspeth’s bedroom) and drive round the hill bend. Each failed attempt required compression braking, rolling backwards past our house, and then accelerating the trucks brains out to try again. Also, there is that intense squeaky, creaking noise that only rubbish trucks make. The manoeuvre also requires driving up a tiny curb so the wheels were spinning out of control trying to navigate this cross country terrain. I considered going out and bringing our bin in, so he wouldn't stop out the front of our house on his way back past. But, we are on the down hill side. So if he knew our daughter was trying to sleep, he could have had the courtesy to turn off the truck and coast if he wanted.
This whole "rocky montage" scenario is playing out to the symphony of Elsie bellowing from her bedroom. The trucks finishes the other houses on the street and rolls up to our house, but stops just beside our drive way. WTAF? Oh the noise. Dear God, this massive engine idling 5m from the front of elspeth's window. We have only just gotten approval to build so close to the front of our block and I am certain this was a stunt by the development board to punish us. I furiously look outside to notice him talking on his phone and considered throwing something at him. Waking a sleeping child is like killing two birds with one stone, because this small dick move can also wake the inner pycho of any woman. One win was that I couldn’t hear Elsie yelling out over the truck.
THEN. I notice!!! That our recycle bin isn’t even out. You know because I was sick last night and the invisible person that usually does everything around the house didn’t do it. For the record, that person is the person that my husband and kids think does everything. I don’t actually believe we have a ghost in our house. SO. There is no way I am holding up that truck any longer. I just leave our bin where it is, and applaud the sounds of the compression brake releasing and rapid acceleration as the driver progresses through gears one to six as he passes the perimeter of our house. And isn't it ironic, that after all this agony, I still have a bin full of rubbish.
And when I got Elspeth up about 45 minutes later, she didn't look like she had slept at all. In fact, I think she outsmarted me by just being quiet for long enough to trick me. FML.
I fondly took the picture at the top of this post this morning, when the first truck passed by, capturing this weekly ritual and not at all expecting this post became a raving commentary.