Procrastination lands husband in wild chase to unload trash

By Ka'ohua Lucas

Mondays and Thursdays are the most difficult days of the week — at least for my husband.

He has to wake up at an incredibly early hour to haul our rubbish out to the curb for a 6:30 a.m. pickup.

I've suggested on several occasions that he enlist the services of our eldest son.

"Hey, he can help you take the garbage out the night before," I'd recommend.

I don't know what it is. Maybe it's a guy thing.

"No worries," my husband would insist. "I can handle."

So, last Monday was no different from any other.

"It's garbage day, Lovey," I chirped at 6 a.m.

"Yeah, yeah, OK," he groaned, burrowing his head into the pillow.

I went about my early-morning duties as I usually do. And he went back to sleep as he usually does. But this Monday morning I failed to give him the every-10-minute interval warning.

I was consumed in a work project, ignoring the minute hand as it crept to the trash-pickup moment. Then, in the distance, I heard the grinding of gears as a diesel truck approached.

Oh gosh, I thought to myself. We've missed another garbage pickup. The next thing I heard was a clamor in the bedroom.

My husband streaked across the house en route to the kitchen.

I could hear the plastic garbage bag being savagely ripped out of its container, the front door to our house practically kicked open.

As I ran to the picture window, I saw him loading several huge trash bags into the bed of his truck. As he fired up the engine, it roared to life.

I shrugged, grabbed a cup of coffee and returned to my work.

He wasn't gone long.

He swaggered into the kitchen with a satisfied look on his face.

"So, how was your little garbage escapade?" I asked. "Were you successful in hooking up with the 'opala crew?"

"Mission accomplished," he said, smiling and pouring himself a cup of steaming brew.

"What happened?"

Since the garbage truck had passed our house, he decided to chase after it. As we all know, one of the most embarrassing things anyone can do is to flag down a garbage truck and off load your garbage. You open yourself to ridicule.

So my husband deftly navigated around the diesel, heading up the street.

The two Hawaiian kane perched on the rear of the truck shook their heads in disbelief as the crazy man in the Ford Ranger aggressively nosed the front end of his truck around them.

Several houses away — not within sight — my husband unloaded five Hefty 33-gallon bags into a neighbor's trash bin.

Then, finding a long, narrow lane, he parked his truck in the shadow of a false kamani tree.

After the garbage truck lurched past, he put the Ford in gear, leaving his hiding spot.

"Now then," I teased. "What have we learned from this experience?"

"Absolutely nothing," he said, unfolding the morning paper. "Except it's just another flagrant opportunity for you to write about me in your next column."

Reach Ka'ohua Lucas at Family Matters, 'Ohana page, The Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Honolulu, HI 96802; fax 525-8055; or at ohana@honoluluadvertiser.com.