Needling travel correspondent Vegan Vagabond is back with a special dispatch from her Capitol Hill apartment complex.
By Vegan Vagabond
The moment the heavy, modern doors of my air-conditioned luxury apartment building swung open, I felt the disorientingly warm spring air hit my face – it was as if the stressful weight of running my own vegan dog bakery slid right off my Insta-worthy shoulders. I was suddenly compelled to take the road less traveled, around to the shared dumpster on the far side of my apartment, as if the wind itself had whispered into my ear and told me to slow down to explore its magic.
As I turned the corner, I saw the shimmering sun perched atop the weathered visage of the dumpster like a golden crown earned each and every day as the earth’s rotation began anew. The cracks and stains bestowed upon the aged, green monolith telling a thousand stories of which I would never know. Who was this ‘DIK SMEAR’ that left these ancient hieroglyphs painted across the side of the dumpster’s sturdy walls? Why did those that walked this path before me throw away a half-eaten bucket of fried chicken? So many untold stories, yet I was only privy to one: The story of today.
I spent a quiet, contemplative moment determining which receptacle my oat milk container was destined for. It was a paper container I had diligently washed, removing all traces of the oat that had nourished me so many mornings that week. Was I to return its gifts to Gaia, our nurturing Mother Earth? Or deliver it back to the realm of man, to be cleaned and refurbished for another’s balanced breakfast? “Some mysteries we may never know, and are never meant to be known,” I thought to myself as I chucked it into the recycling bin.
It was just then that I was afforded a chance encounter with one of the inspiring locals of this region. A filthy, disheveled man, I imagine Gary was born and raised in this very village. He had worked for thirty years performing the back-breaking labor of a humble garbage collector. Gary was filthy, but wore a broad smile that didn’t show a crack that would otherwise expose his sad, terrible life. Gary seemed puzzled by the many questions I posed to him about garbage collecting, a barrier likely borne of our many cultural differences. He finally asked if I could stop taking photos on top of the dumpster so he could empty it and continue his route. I attempted to take a photo together, miming the action and repeating ‘picture’ in the hopes that he might understand my request. Alas, his shaking head showed he could not. I suppose showing just a moment of weakness could spell death for him on these mean streets.
As I waved goodbye, I watched his garbage truck rumble away until it slipped from view. I couldn’t help but think of how much our chance encounter must have meant to Gary, a brief look into a life that he would never have. I don’t think he’ll ever forget me, and I know I’ll never forget the fleeting moments I spent with Garth, either.
With my eyes clear, heart full, and hands empty of garbage, I slowly retreated the thirty steps back to my condo, until the faint vinegary smell of my journey faded into the lively, spring air. Not all who wander are lost, indeed. I felt renewed, and reminded that love is the world’s one true sustainable resource if we have the courage to search our hearts for that stinky recycle bin deep down inside every one of us. Love and light garbage to you all.
