No Bliss Just Tirades

The sky was overcast, the usual end-of-the-workday euphoria marred by gloom. The brisk north wind carried a bite, sinking its wintry teeth into exposed skin. I hurried toward my car, ready to get home and relax a few minutes before tackling the chores left unfinished by morning lethargy. I’ll admit it; I left the house without making the bed. Instead of loading the dishwasher, breakfast dishes now lounged haphazardly in the sink. Hey, I was having a bad morning.

It was Thursday and our small-town, weekly newspaper would be waiting inside my mailbox. I eagerly anticipated reading the local news, while sipping a cup of that strong, black coffee I enjoy way too much. To that end, I parked my car in the driveway and braced myself for the cold trek to the mailbox.

My mailbox was not conveniently placed in front of my house; it was in front of a house at the end of the street. The hole was dug where my friendly mail person had placed his or her red flag when I first moved here. I opened the lid and peered inside, nothing, it was empty. That made two days in a row with no mail. Not only am I always deluged by a daily offering of catalogs and junk mail, but the local newspaper being inside the mailbox on Thursday is about the only thing you can really count on in life. Something was wrong.

The following morning, on my usual trip to the post office to pick up mail for work, I asked if there was a problem. I gave them my name, and was rewarded with a knowing smirk.

“There have been trash cans in front of your mailbox for two days now,” I was told.

“But my mailbox is not in front of my house, those are not my trash cans,” I said, simultaneously defending my innocence and my reputation for promptly removing my garbage cans from view.

“It’s not our problem,” was the less than helpful response.

I bit my tongue, trying to harness the fiery outburst that would only make me look like an idiot. I could see their point. It wasn’t their job to move the trash cans. However, how had it become my responsibility to adios the neighbor’s debris? I collected my mail and walked outside without a resolution to the problem.

Left to ferment, my frustration grew stronger. By the time I got home, the enamel on my teeth was much thinner. I wanted to pound on the culprit’s door and demand they fix the problem, thereby causing perpetual friction in the neighborhood. That wouldn’t do. It was better to swallow my anger and take care of the problem myself.

As if a child in the midst of a tantrum, I slammed the car door and stomped down the street to the offending trash can. I readied my foot for battle and kicked that thing as hard as I could. It flew through the air, at least two feet, before landing next to its brother in the ditch.

As I turned to limp home, the sun peaked out from behind those depressing clouds. I blew out a breath of frustration…anger released…neighborhood war avoided. Problem solved!

Story ID:	1714
Written by:	Betty (BJ) Roan (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Toledo IL USA
Year:	2006