Garbage Day in Swillburg
On 10pm, Christmas night, I was driving home after dropping STBEW and her boyfriend off at his apartment.
That I was dropping the woman that I'm still married to off at her boyfriend's apartment wasn't the weirdest thing that happened that night.
Because on the way home, I passed a barbershop. Inside the barbershop was a barber. He was cutting someone's hair.
At ten o'clock at night.
Christmas night.
Although I have never experienced such a thing, I can imagine that there might be an event happening at eleven o'clock at night--even on Christmas night--for which a man might want to look his absolute best--including a tight coiffure.
However, I don't think I have ever met a barber dedicated enough to his craft to come in on any night--especially Christmas night--at ten o'clock, to do this for a man.
I bring this up now, because up until this afternoon, I thought I had seen the weirdest thing I would see this week.
I was wrong.
Thursday is the traditional garbage day in Swillburg. We all put on our traditional garbage day clothes* for the festive ritual of racing our cans and recycle bins to the curb before the grand arrival of the right-hand-drive garbage truck. Although, some of the more 'progressive' Swillburgers are eschewing the first part of the tradition, called das selbstlos**, and put their trash out the evening, or even the day, before the Great Garbageman arrives.
Things were confounded even more by the arrival of a holiday earlier in the week, which was marked by singing, and gift-giving, and, for some, a 10 o'clock haircut, which moved garbage day back to Friday.
So, this afternoon, as I was driving off to do errands, I spied what has to be the weirdest thing I've seen all week:
What the hell was that?
Those look like...golf bags!
Dayum...they are golf bags!
Twenty-three of them, in fact. Plus some lumber, and old end tables.
Twenty-three golf bags. Some in pretty decent condition.
So now, I must ask: What madness causes a man to think he needs twenty-three golfbags? Or is it something other than madness? If so, what? An ebay plan gone wrong? Or did he have twenty-four friends, all with the same idea of a perfect Christmas gift?
Anyone?
I have no answers. I merely remain open to the possibility that this may not be, in the end, the weirdest thing I see this week.
yeharr
*Unlaced boots, yesterday's pants, and an open bathrobe
**'the forgetting'
That I was dropping the woman that I'm still married to off at her boyfriend's apartment wasn't the weirdest thing that happened that night.
Because on the way home, I passed a barbershop. Inside the barbershop was a barber. He was cutting someone's hair.
At ten o'clock at night.
Christmas night.
Although I have never experienced such a thing, I can imagine that there might be an event happening at eleven o'clock at night--even on Christmas night--for which a man might want to look his absolute best--including a tight coiffure.
However, I don't think I have ever met a barber dedicated enough to his craft to come in on any night--especially Christmas night--at ten o'clock, to do this for a man.
I bring this up now, because up until this afternoon, I thought I had seen the weirdest thing I would see this week.
I was wrong.
Thursday is the traditional garbage day in Swillburg. We all put on our traditional garbage day clothes* for the festive ritual of racing our cans and recycle bins to the curb before the grand arrival of the right-hand-drive garbage truck. Although, some of the more 'progressive' Swillburgers are eschewing the first part of the tradition, called das selbstlos**, and put their trash out the evening, or even the day, before the Great Garbageman arrives.
Things were confounded even more by the arrival of a holiday earlier in the week, which was marked by singing, and gift-giving, and, for some, a 10 o'clock haircut, which moved garbage day back to Friday.
So, this afternoon, as I was driving off to do errands, I spied what has to be the weirdest thing I've seen all week:
What the hell was that?
Those look like...golf bags!
Dayum...they are golf bags!Twenty-three of them, in fact. Plus some lumber, and old end tables.
Twenty-three golf bags. Some in pretty decent condition.
So now, I must ask: What madness causes a man to think he needs twenty-three golfbags? Or is it something other than madness? If so, what? An ebay plan gone wrong? Or did he have twenty-four friends, all with the same idea of a perfect Christmas gift?
Anyone?
I have no answers. I merely remain open to the possibility that this may not be, in the end, the weirdest thing I see this week.
yeharr
*Unlaced boots, yesterday's pants, and an open bathrobe
**'the forgetting'
posted by Balloon Pirate at 10:56 PM
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