In case my first post about trash left someone hankerin' for more (and really, who can get enough trash talk? Heh!), here's an update. Before we left Japan last week for the summer, we hosted, in one weekend, a sleepover for First Child, a spur-of-the-moment get-together with another family, and a party for some departing friends. Boy, did those events generate a lot of burnable garbage. Any smelly trash left outside overnight in plastic bags is inevitably stalked and descended upon by gangs of tail-less cats and the Blackbird Mafia, some of whom will almost certainly leave the bags in ribbons and disgusting spoiled food bits strewn throughout the garage. Our lone plastic trash can was already loaded, and obviously, leaving several bags of garbage sitting unattended until the next combustible pick-up two days later was not an option. What brilliant plan did Husband devise? "Let's put it all in the back of the van, and we'll dispose of it tomorrow--somewhere." I should mention here that it's June and the weather was turning rather warm. Anyway, in the afternoon, Husband snatched First Child and her visiting friend out of their chore-free reverie and had them haul those full bags of combustible refuse down the stairs to the back of the waiting van. Fast-forward 24 blissfully trash-free hours, to the time each week when we drive First Child and Second Child to Japanese lessons. Oh, the bliss ended as soon as I opened the van door and sat down in the passenger seat. How quickly we forget: sniff, sniff, what is that smell? Husband claimed it wasn't that bad, but I'll just say that it was necessary to hang my head out the window, like a poodle on an outing, for the full ten-minute drive (which actually wasn't that embarrassing, since most of the Japanese people already surmise that we are lunatics anyway).
After dropping the kids off, did Husband and I go immediately to dispose of the offending waste? No! Instead, we parked in the 7-11 lot and went for a nice walk in the area, unconcerned about the possibility of alien aromas emanating from the cavity of our MPV. Then we came back and sat in the van again, waiting for the kids to be finished. About five minutes into whatever book I'd brought along (with head out the window intermittently), I looked over at Husband--laid back in his seat with legs propped up and mouth open, apparently passed out from the stench. I can't say where we ended up getting rid of the bags--no really, I can't say.
Fast-forward again, several weeks: we are sweating our cares away now in sunny Texas, clearly on vacation, as the thought of trash--whether it's separated properly, which bag some plastic food containers should go in, what must be taken under cover of darkness to an undisclosed location for illegal disposal--is not occupying prime real estate in my brain 24/7. We're out of control--flinging tissues, bits of plastic, crushed toy parts, even food--all into one can! I'm still recycling, of course, but I won't take the time to explain how much easier it is here.
I may have to attend remedial Trash Class when we return to Japan. Friend, do not take your Freedoms lightly!