Municipal Waste, A Story of Garbage Men

Municipal Waste

A Story of Garbage Men

By Alex Maria

The engine groaned and hauled the ancient Garbage Metro truck- and all its vile, slushy cargo- along the assigned route.

Long fingers of winter chill groped their way through the rusty holes in the cab floor. The passenger reached out to turn the heat higher, and saw it was already maxed out. His hand drifted back to the relative warmth of his lap.

Outside, snow swirled furiously through the air. The headlights spilled out into an utter chaos of wind born ice.

The man behind the wheel didn't seem too perturbed by the terrible weather. In fact, he was in great spirits.

With the grumble and whine of machinery, the sounds of ice crunching under heavy wheels could still be heard. The driver lent his grit-oil voice to the gravelly sounds which filled the truck's cab, "You load sixteen tons, what do you get? another day older and deeper in-"

"Shut the hell up man. I don't want any more of your shit songs stuck in my head." The passenger knew his voice wasn't much better... but he, at least, had the good sense to avoid using it for song. "Besides, it doesn't feel right to sing, not while we're on this route... Not with what we're doing"

The grizzled driver ended the line with a flourish and an unkind smile, "-And deeper in debt!" And then wiped his nose with the back of his work glove. "It's not a song about what we're doing, per se. It's just a song about physical labor, generally." He lowered his pitch and belted out as deep and loud as he could, "Sooooome people say a man is made out of mud, well a poor man's made out of muscle and blood- muscle and blood, and skin and boooone-"

"Shut up!" The passenger's hands were clenched. "I'm serious. That's fucking sick." He guessed he knew why they'd paired up strangers for this assignment- they'd be more likely to just go with the flow- anonymity helped protect their consciences. But he hated the driver more than he'd ever hated a stranger before.

The man behind the wheel shrugged and patted his grimy work gloves on the chest of his yellow, high-visibility jacket. "Alright. Whatever you say." He was still grinning, and seemed to think himself quite clever.

The passenger pointed out a large mound of trash, trash was good. The driver shrugged and said, "Might as well."

Hydraulics squealed and the truck lurched to a stop, the engine kept chugging.

"It's your turn." Said the passenger.

"Suit yourself," Said the driver, "That just means the next one
will be yours."

The man who had been singing opened his door- a rush of frigid wind tore through the cab and gripped at both men.

Then the door was shut again, and the driver was left happily alone, and despite the cold, that was a comfort.

Wind rocked the truck.
------

Outside, the driver forced himself along the side of the idling hauler, through frigid, gale force winds.

He tried to whistle saint Peter don't you call me cause I can't go- but an icy gust slapped him in the face and slashed the air right out of his lungs. Had to keep that- air. Without it he might be...

Perish the thought.

He picked up the black bags which had been left so graciously on the curb, and hoisted them over his shoulder.

The cold was physically painful, but it was actually good for one thing: frozen, winter garbage was far less fragrant than hot, steamy, summer garbage.

In the coldest months, there was only the faintest whisper of sweet-rot. Not so, in the blazing humidity of July and August, when the sun burned and the wind was gone and you could practically see the green lines of sickly stink rising through the hot air... But this night was the coldest on record- that was why they were out, even when all other non-essential traffic in the city had been shut down.... And the garbage they were after on this night of nights offered a very different stink all together. It wasn't necessarily better or worse than old ham-bones and diapers- just different.

The wind clawed at his face, he gasped. Even if there had been any stink lines to scent, the wind would have obliterated them nicely.

He heaved the bags into the compactor and pressed the red button, which was just to the left of the mounted ram rod and below the yellow print warning, keep hands clear of compactor when in operation.

The metal compressor- caked with what could be a years worth of slime and crud- did its work, and the bags were torn to shreds by the heavy iron machinery of waste removal... A couple chicken wings and some slushy garbage juices squirted out of the black plastic, but he didn't stay to see what else would come spilling out.

Instead, he let the compressor do its work, ran back to the front of the truck and climbed inside the heated cab. He shook the icy air out of his face, and said beautifully, "It's colder than a polar bears scrote out there."

Normally, when it wasn't in the negatives with a wind chill to boot, the loader might ride the rear plates of the truck- that made for a much faster pick up. But in this case they'd sacrifice a lot of speed for a little warmth, taking turns outside at each stop.

The next pile of garbage was practically within spitting distance- so the truck rolled forward only a handful of yards before stopping once more.

"Your turn, pussy."

The passenger ignored the driver's insult, rubbed his caked gloves together and flung the door wide. "Alright wish me luck."

"Go fuck yourself."

The door shut, and the driver was left to himself, once again singing the songs of workmen.
------

Outside the truck, the driver's voice was muffled. But still, unfortunately audible. The passenger shut it out, wondering, not for the first time that night, how he had gotten himself into this mess.

He picked up the bags, tossed them down the chute, hit the red button, and ran back to the cab, shivering violently. Despite the cold he was sweating, and he was deeply relieved that that load had been just the easy garbage.

"-Saint Peter don't you call me cause I can't goooooo, I ooowe my soooul to Garbage Metro!"

As much as the passenger hated the driver for singing, he suffered it- if only for the warmth.

As the truck pulled forward, each each man scanned the road for pickups- one stayed silent, the other stayed obnoxiously loud.

"Aha!" The driver seemed excited, the passenger's lip curled in disgust.

"My turn! Back in a jiffy!" The driver hopped out, a few words of his song could be heard before a gust of wind slammed the door shut, "You see me comin, better step aside. 'Lotta men didn't, lotta....."

That sick-o was taking pleasure in this. The passenger wanted to lock the cab doors and just drive away. Leave that sick bastard to the mercy of the city and its deadly weather.

His eyes wandered across the streets and sidewalks, searching for trash bags.

Just trash bags.

He wished the street lights were a little bit dimmer, so they'd see less of the work they'd have to do. Less of the grisly work anyhow.

The door opened a crack, and the other garbage man's ugly grin filled the opening. "Gonna need your help with this one. She's a bit heavy."

The Passenger shook his head, he shivered but it wasn't entirely from the cold. "Do it yourself."

"Already tried. This bitch is a fatty. Get the fuck out here, you know the job and I'm freezing my balls off."

Reluctantly the passenger cracked his door and stepped out into the frigid pale of the meager street lights.

A terrible wind tore down the street and pushed against him. It was harsh, it stung the exposed parts of his face... Even so, he wished it was stronger- strong enough to lift him. He wished it would just carry him away and excuse him from his duties.

"Come on, fuckwit." The other man now called from behind the back of the garbage truck.

The red of their brake lights and the pulsing yellow of their caution lights shone on his harsh, ugly head and reflected in his beady eyes. The wind let up, and a rolling haze of black exhaust curled up and around the driver's face. It looked like smoke from hell, and the driver looked like a grinning demon. The passenger shuddered.

"Over here."

He followed, obedient to something other than his conscience.

Then he saw the load they were to pick up, and he wondered if it would even fit in the compactor. He told himself, of course it would fit, and he hated himself for phrasing it that way: 'it'.

The other stooped over and found a hand hold.

"Come on for tit's sake. I can't lift this chubster all by myself."

He did as he was told. In matters like this, he just followed the command of others. Easier to stomach if he took all thought out of the act, and let his body tool along like a machine with no will and no responsibility- like a biological garbage truck.

But he couldn't silence his conscience completely, and he grimaced as he wrapped his hands around her soft ankles.

"On three."

He nodded.

"One."

His eyes traveled up her sweatpant-legs, across her huge meaty buttocks, and up towards the back of her head. She was lying face down, thank God. A thin layer of snow clung to her sweat pants and her ratty hooded sweatshirt.

"Two."

His grip tightened. He didn't want to lift her but that didn't matter. He was going to anyway. And when he did, he needed to make sure he didn't drop her. That would be unbearable.

"Three."

They both lifted, one by the ankles and the other by the wrists. But she was heavy, and they ended up more or less dragging her across the icy sidewalk. The driver wondered what would happen if a pedestrian happened to see this...

But he knew no one would. Not only because they were working at 3 in the morning, but also because the travel ban was in full effect. And visibility was almost zero. Besides... they were garbage men. Nobody ever looked at them.

The passenger panted and strained, her arms and legs were limber. "How come the other guy had been stiff like a board?"

They couldn't get her off the ground.

The driver gritted his teeth against the cold and the labor. "He
was frozen you dumb idiot. God, are you fucking retarded?"

They dragged her over the curb, her head fell to the road with a soft thud.

When he heard the sound of her skull on bouncing on frozen asphalt, a bit of bile wiggled its way up his throat. But he swallowed hard to force it back down.

They both strained and heaved and managed to get her up and over the lip of the truck's compactor, she slid down into the greasy metal pit, the same way an overfilled bag of garbage would.

They were panting. The passenger said, "Well then how come she's not frozen too? It's fucking cold out here."

"I don't know. She must be fresh. Who knows how long that old man might have been chillin' there before we arrived- hours maybe."

The driver nodded. That sounded right. That had to be right. Because she couldn't be alive still- that was just impossible in this weather.

Yeah, but maybe she just passed out. Maybe she's hypothermic but still alive and that's why she's not a solid popsicle like the old man was. Maybe she would still be alright if she were dropped off at a hospital...

He looked in at her bluish face, where snow, road salt, and some grime from the garbage-chute itself was smeared across her haggard and empty expression.

She looked dead.

He wondered what her last moments had been like, freezing on the street. Had she looked at the lights of the high-rise apartments above her, as she lay dying? Had she called to the warm, lucky, and indifferent folk who lived there? Had she looked to the sky? Had she prayed?

He tried to beat those thoughts down. The other man hit the red button and the machinery started- the compressor began it's descent.

Her head turned, and her mouth flopped open- she tried to move! The passenger let out a pathetic yelp, he ran back to the cab, and begged his shaky hands to work the latch on his door. He scrambled inside, and tried not to listen to the sound of the compactor, but he couldn't ignore the crunching sounds that her bones made as the gears squeezed her to a pulp.

Then there was only the sound of the idling engine, and the whistling of the wind, and the damnable, muffled crooning of the goddamned driver who was still outside.

Muffled, but not quiet enough: "You load one fat bitch, whaddya get? Another day older and deeper in debt."

The passenger decided that he really did have to lock that freak out. But before he could shoot his hand across the cab, the driver side door swung open and the other man climbed in.

He was smiling, content.

That put the passenger into a rage. His voice trembled with shock, and his hands still quaked with cold and nausea, "She was still alive! I saw her fucking head turn. She was just hypo-"

"You pansy. You fucking woman. Are you a man or an absolute pussy?"

"She was alive you cocksucker!"

Now he was shaking with anger as much as nerves.

The second man waved his hand dismissively. "She wasn't alive. I watched the whole thing."

"I saw her head turn!"

"Yeah, you fucking snowflake, the metal pressed down on her body and shifted her weight, and her head flopped over. Nothing deliberate about it. She was already dead." But his eyes told a different story. They spoke of some malignant, gleeful secret.

"And even if she wasn't already dead, you and I both know... she was trash."  And there was that devilish grin- no longer lit up with red and shadowed with brimstone smoke, but evil all the same- and the passenger knew without a doubt... that the other man was lying.

But he wasn't brave enough to tell him so, and out of fear tried a little lie of his own, "If you say so. My nerves must have gotten the better of me."And he hoped in vain, that the driver would just die- right then and there. A nice heart attack or something, to rid the world of one truly garbage person.

"Damn right, you stupid ass hole. Watch the road while I drive."

He depressed the accelerator and the mobile dumpster- commissioned to act as a temporary tomb- rolled forward. A plow passed them going the opposite direction, and the passenger mused in silent defeat, that the plowman might turn his nose in disgust at the sight of a garbage truck, but he'd truly have no idea just how disgusted he ought to be.

Corpses.

How many bodies were in there now, mixed in one compacted heap with the junk people had stuffed in bags and thrown away? How about in the landfill they were bringing this load to? He imagined mangled bones and limbs squeezed together with broken eggshells, banana peels, used tissues, and candy wrappers.

"This isn't worth it."

"Excuse me?" The other man's eyes narrowed, he looked offended.

"You heard me. I thought the it'd be worth it- for the money. But it's not. This is dirty work."

The other man let out a laugh like sand paper and bolts. "You are a fuckin' dumb ass. Of course it's dirty, we are garbage men. Keeping the streets clean of all the things the rest of the population would rather not see. Nobody wanted those people when they were alive, and you can bet your shitty-ass nobody wants them now. We're cleaning up garbage, nothing more nothing less. And yeah its dirty, you sack of dicks, that's why we're getting paid so fucking damn well. Do you remember what Mayor Greenham told us?"

Of course he remembered, but he wished he'd never heard....

"Have you ever wondered how the homeless survive the winters up here? Well it's a fairly obvious secret that some of them don't. Any logical person who really thinks about it has to understand that.

But somehow the secret remains. Do you know how? Do you know why?"

Neither of them had said anything, and the mayor had continued.

"Because its one of those little secrets that the public prefers to keep. They turn a blind eye to the problem and deliberately avoid thinking about it- avoid even looking at it. To the good citizens of this city, the homeless are already invisible. You know this, already don't you? When was the last time you made eye contact with one of those miserable beggars in the subway? They are an ugly stain on our city, and one which is so painfully obvious it takes a great deal of will to ignore.

While they are alive and ugly, its easy for people to pass by and forget those wretched vagrants. But what happens when they die?

When they die, they become paradoxically impossible to ignore. A homeless man, however ugly, is transient. We can always assume they will eventually wander away and be a problem somewhere else... As long as he's alive that is. Once he's a corpse... Well then he's there to stay. And that's where you come in. You and the rest of my handpicked fleet."

"He was right you know." The other man said, his voice painted with glory and pride, "By going on these patrols and by picking up any reports, we are doing this city a great service."

"By shoveling the mess under the rug?"

The other man shook his head. In a flash his proud smile turned into an angry scowl, "Listen, you worthless dick-hole, I've had about enough of your pretenses of conscience. We are doing this city a great service. Cleaning up a mess which all the shitbag school teachers, faggot churchgoers, and fragile old ladies would rather not see. They all get to keep warm in their apartments and feed themselves pizza and chinese, without the burden of guilt. How would they feel if they knew that some idiotic fuck froze to death on their doorstep? We are helping every single person in this city live a life free of unnecessary obligations."

"Not every single person. What about the ones we're picking up."

"Not people anymore. Barely even people to begin with, and probably better off dead. We were made from shit and dust, and to shit and dust we shall return. Now the city- the taxpayers- dont have to pay to keep them alive and they don't have to pay to inter shit-dust corpses. The mayor and the city itself don't have to suffer the bad publicity that would undoubtedly come if a story like this one made the rounds. Not to mention, this means the police won't have to waste their time cleaning up this mess- they can focus on more important things like protecting the people who actually matter."

"Explain to me why the fuck these ones don't matter!" The passenger pointed his thumb at the back of the truck at 'these ones'. He was beginning to feel hot in the chest, constricted.

The driver laughed- it wasn't just a chuckle, but a full on guffaw. "You miserable worm dick! You cock juggler! I don't have to to explain anything to you- you know why? Huh, you butt-clown? Because you already know why! You know as well as I do that these people don't give diddly shit to society- all they do is take!"

"What the fuck do you think they are taking? They didn't take homes, they didn't take cars- the food they took is probably all scrounged from the gutter! What the hell do you-"

"What they are taking is a free fucking ride to the fucking town dump! Shut the fuck up, or you'll take one too, you fuck!"

The passenger fell silent. He disagreed, utterly, but he couldn't find a single word to voice the obvious wrongness he felt in the pit of his stomach- at least not in the face of such unabashed, raging insanity- and definitely not against that last, sudden threat of violence. He wanted to point out that the playboys and CEOs took a lot from society too- and some gave about as much as the homeless... but he was afraid, so the battle had already been lost.

Like a boxer throwing another punch at an already beaten opponent, the driver jabbed once more "And don't forget, we're getting paid a fuck load of money... money trumps everything, even your pansy ass sensitivities. We are garbage men. We are just doing our jobs."

The truck grumbled as if to break the silence, and the driver chuckled.

They came up on another mound of trash bags- where the passenger was relieved to see nothing but regular garbage.

"Hey listen shit-heels. Why don't you sit this one out and think things over, huh? I'll load this round, and you just warm back up, so you can get behind what we are doing here."

The other man hopped out, and the passenger was left fixating on the morbidity of the mayor's cleanup plan. He had said they were 'hand picked', what the hell for? He didn't know the driver prior to this arrangement, but he had a criminal history- and it was true he was on hard times now. But how did either of those things mean that he was to be 'hand picked' as part of a large scale operation keeping the streets clean of human refuse?

How many were they expected to find?

They had already found two bodies- the fat woman and the old man before her- on their route. But there must be hundreds of routes in this borough alone. And some areas were poorer than
others.

How long had these programs been going on? The landfills must be ripe with forgotten corpses, and the whole city was responsible.

He wondered if he should come clean, spill the beans. The scandal would be gigantic, and the mayor would lose office- probably be put away.

The mayor had sworn them to secrecy, and that itself was scary. He was a powerful man, who apparently lacked scruples. Coming clean, he might put himself in danger. And would it even be worth it? Would the people in their high up flats believe it? Would they even care? Or would the story be front page fodder for one of those conspiracy magazines that people joked about but never read?

As he puzzled it out, the passenger, leaned more and more towards revealing everything to the media.

One thing was certain, he didn't like what he was doing. He hated it.

And that realization helped him solidify his resolve. He was going to rat. But how?

There was a tap on his door window, and when he looked up his heart stomped right up into his throat, almost into his mouth.

The driver had hoisted himself up onto the door and was staring right at him through the glass.

His grin was downright skeletal and his eyes seemed to declare, I know what you were just thinking about doing. Bad idea.

His voice was muffled by the sealed window, "Come on retard. I need your help."

He hopped back down to the street, and the passenger wondered how long the other man had been perched there, staring at him- watching him.

He wondered if he should just hit the gas and drive straight to the police station.

But what good would a frantic confession do? The Metro Police Department was on the mayors pay roll.

No, he'd come clean but it would have to be done in a careful and planned out manner. Tonight, he'd have to bite the bullet and do what he didn't want to do so that tomorrow he could do what he had to do.

He opened the door and slunk to the road. Then he walked to the back, where the other man was standing, wind and snow swirled around them.

"Where's the corpse?" The cold made the skin on his face and scalp tight against his skull- even through the tight fitting thermal.

"Relax cock-breath. Not a corpse. You're off the hook."

The passenger shrugged, tried to act like he wasn't relieved, "A job's a job. What do you need help with, if not another body?"

"This bag is just way to heavy for me, I can't lift it alone."

The driver tugged on a large black bag as he spoke, it looked heavy, "Right here. Some numbfuck must have put some rocks or tile in their garbage. Give me a hand so it doesn't tear."

The passenger bent down and put both hands around the base of the bag. Just regular garbage, what a relief. He prepared himself for a heavy weight, lifting with all his might- but he was surprised to find the bag no heavier than normal.

"Wonderful joke you ass hole. Just trying to make sure you didn't suffer the cold alone?"

The driver laughed, and his voice was filled with seething mockery, "Yeah, you sure fell for it."

"Yeah I guess I did." The passenger raised the bag and turned towards the gaping mouth of the compactor to hurl it in...

But there was a hard shove on his back, and it threw him off balance, so that he stumbled forward with the bag still in his arms.

Then there were gloved hands on his thighs lifting and heaving- pushing him towards the chute - he tried to grab onto the ram rod which was always mounted on the side, but it wasn't there. His fingers slipped through empty air and he slid face first into the cold steel trap of the compactor.

He rolled onto his back and sat up, steel ramp in front of him, steel walls on each side and the cold compressor ceiling above.

The driver's face was like that of a wolf- deranged, hungry, deadly.

The passenger lunged forwards and clawed towards the lip of the compactor, his hands curled around frozen steel which was now heavily caked with sludge- and probably blood.

But as he pulled himself out the driver jabbed at him with the steel ram rod.

The rod crashed against his wrist and he felt a crack. He flailed wildly in the free, frigid air.

The rod came down again, against his collar bone, driving him back down.

Even in the cold, the compactor was starting to smell- like waste, and rot, and death.

In between those violent, brutal thrusts of the steel rod, the driver's hand darted to the red button.

The passenger heard the machinery start to whine, and the compressor lurch into motion. He felt the ceiling coming towards him and above it he heard the other man's taunt, "You are one stupid, stupid fucking idiot, you know that? You should have just kept your mouth shut and made a shit-lot of money!"

"Now you're just another pickup! Muscle and blood and skin and booones! A mind that's weak and a compactor that's strong!"

Like a wild animal, he fought for the exit. A harsh thwack- the ramrod connected with his head and he fell back into the shrinking pit dazed.

As his body slid backwards, his weight shifted and his head turned- his mouth flopped open.

The garbage man leant on his ram rod and watched.