Ostensibly, our garbage and recycling get picked up twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays.
The reality is that the Tuesday people almost never collect the garbage. They've probably picked it up a handful of times in the almost-year that we've lived there.
The Friday people, they're a lot better
Except when they aren't.
End result is that sometimes our trash doesn't get picked up for a week. Or two, as was the case earlier this month.
So this morning I awoke to a frantic ringing of our doorbell. I wondered why Nick wasn't getting it.
And then it turned out it was Nick. Clad in a T-shirt, boxers, and felt clogs. As you might be at 7 am.
Because this morning, Nick heard the garbage truck, and he sprinted outside. They come early, and he was up with Jordan. He set J in the playpen and dashed out back. And the door locked behind him.
Which meant he had to mince down the alley, up the block, and halfway down our street to get to our front door.
Oh, but my how-to point is this.
So Nick said - and I love how he acted like he was just strolling out there to ask them a casual question in his underwear - that he was just wondering why they didn't pick up our garbage.
They wanted to know if it was a group house.
"Well then, we should be picking it up."
(Yes, gentlemen, yes, you should...)
"The problem is," Nick said, "it never gets picked up on Tuesdays. So I'm wondering if there's some issue?"
"Well, you know," the guy said, "we do accept Christmas cards. And I don't believe we got one from you last Christmas."
So next Tuesday, they're getting a Christmas card. So that we don't have to shovel up a bag of diapers that's gotten ripped into and strewn about (by what I of course assume to be rabid, diaper-munching raccoons) in the week or so that it's been in the alley.
And that, my friends, is how to get your trash collected in our nation's capital.