Miss Garbage Lady, did you know when you were fifteen years old that you would end up
driving a garbage truck and handling trash cans full of the most disgusting contents? I bet nobody asked
you what you wanted to be and you replied garbage lady. Sure it’s a respectable job. All jobs are
respectable. But isn’t it difficult? Handling trash cans weighing half your weight. And you’re no skinny
Minnie.

Dealing with the heat, rain, and cold. And the smells. I know about the smells. I once threw a
dead possum into my trash can. The stench lingered in the can, in my garage, and even in my car that
was parked in the garage. I’m sure you got a whiff when you lifted the heavy can to dump its contents
into your truck. My grandmother used to have a saying, ‘it smells like something crawled somewhere and
died’. I bet you said that too.

So how many children do you have? I bet that prevented you from getting other training or
education to get a better job. How much do you make? You could make the same amount in a
comfortable office job. Yes, there’d still be things to aggravate you. There always are.
So how many children? By how many men who have walked out on you? First child at eighteen
years old? Fourth by the time you were twenty-four years old?

Do you have a daughter? Has she reached puberty? You look about thirty-five. So your
daughter, if she was the first born, is about seventeen. Are you fearful for her? You should be. If you’re
repeating your mother’s life, and I’m sure you are, your daughter will be repeating your life, and each
generation of women in your family into infinity.