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It had been a whole month. A months worth of garbage piled up in my garage bin and in several bags around it. A whole month means two days worth of garbage pick up, but both those days, despite having the garbage out, my garbage wasn't picked up. I called and complained and they reassured me and reassured me that it wouldn't happen again, but it did and I'm no furious. I can't let garbage pile up all over my backyard, the place where my children play. Animals have been tearing open the bags at night and I've had to switch bags, which means I had to take garbage out and put it in a new bag, and after a while, garbage gets gross. Today, I won't miss garbage pick up. At seven o'clock in the morning, a hour before they typically come by, my wife and I bring the garbage to road and make sure it's in plain sit. My wife even goes as far as to take a picture of it and the surroundings for proof. When we get back inside, we do our daily routine. She makes her oatmeal and the oatmeal for the kids as I wake them up and help dress them. I help Mckayla put on a summer, but school appropriate dress. She puts her hair in a ponytail and scoots herself down into the kitchen. Then, I wake up Cooper, our ADHD suffering son. When I get him to wake up, he's slightly cranky, but he's always happy to go to school and like usual, he ignores my fashion advice and puts on whatever he wants. "You're a brat," I tell him, giggling, as we head out of his room and down to the kitchen. "It's almost time," my wife shouts from the kitchen, as I finish up my cereal in the next room. "Yea," I shout back in response. With only minutes before the garbage men arrive, I give the kids their lunches, that they then put in their backpacks and I send them outside to wait for the school bus. As the school bus arrives, the garbage truck turns on to our street. I wave my kids goodbye as they get on the bus and it drives away. I look back to see if my wife is in the doorway, but she isn't, so I march over to the end of the driveway, where the garbage sits. When the garbage truck gets closer and closer, I am able to tell that it is the same garbage men as the past two weeks, and I know that he'll be getting a piece of my mind. I can feel it. Seconds go by and suddenly, the garbage truck stops in front of my house. Now, it only stopped because I jumped out in front of it. "Come up here big man," I shout to the man, who stands at the back of the garbage truck. He appears reluctant, but ends up walking up to me. "What's going on," he questions. "Why haven't you been picking up my garbage," I inquire, as I point down to the garbage beside me. "Sir. It isn't garbage," the man states. "What do you mean," I yell or, confused. He does a slight point towards the garbage pile and I turn to look at it. "Your kids and wife is garbage," the man questions, as he steps back. Confused, I rub my eyes and keep my eyes glued on the garbage pile. Slowly, but surely, the black bags filled with garbage turn into humans. My wife and kids, to be exact. "What the fuck," I scream, as I start to walk backwards. The garbage truck driver steps out of the truck and walks up to me. "Are you ok," he asks. I shake my head yes, but I know that I'm suddenly not ok. "I don't know what's happening right now, but can you still take them, they're trash."
