My Neighbor Kept Dumping Her Trash by My House Because She Didn’t Want to Pay for Garbage Pickup – But She Wasn’t Ready for What I Did Next
About two weeks later, I carried my trash outside one morning and found two black garbage bags sitting beside my bin. I frowned. They weren’t mine.
George was getting his newspaper across the street.
“Those yours?” he called.
“No.”
He looked at the bags, then at me. “Interesting.”
They weren’t mine.
The following morning, there were four bags.
And by the end of the week, there were seven.
By Friday, seven black garbage bags were sitting beside my bins, and even I had run out of innocent explanations for them.
I stood on the porch with my coffee, staring at the pile, while George collected his newspaper across the street.
“Don’t say it,” I called.
He stopped. “Say what?”
By Friday, seven black garbage bags were sitting beside my bins.
“Whatever your face is saying.”
“My face thinks you produce an impressive amount of garbage for one woman.”
“My face thinks you should go home.”
George laughed, but I didn’t.
Two bags had become four, then seven. Whoever was leaving them wasn’t confused. They were comfortable.
So on the following pickup morning, I woke before six, made coffee, and sat by the living-room window.
Twenty minutes later, Helen appeared.
Whoever was leaving them wasn’t confused.
She walked down the sidewalk in leggings and slippers with two black bags in her hands, dropped them beside my bins, dusted off her palms, and turned toward home. Helen wasn’t even trying to hide it.
“Helen!”
She looked back and waved. “Morning, Nora.”
I came outside in my robe. “Are those yours?”
“Yes.”
“And the others?”
“Most of them. The kids produce an unbelievable amount of garbage.”
I stared at her. “Why is your unbelievable amount of garbage at my house?”
“Are those yours?”
