We've lived in Cochrane for almost 11 months and I have been to the bottle depot once before today. It was gross. The man then started to take the cans in for me. Unasked and with regularity.
Or so I thought.......
Yesterday I opened the garage door to put something inside and I saw the mountain. I went to investigate. It was bag upon bag of pop cans. At least 6 months worth, probably more. I should have known.
Today I told the boys we were going to go to the bottle depot and they could see how fun it was there. Lies!
We pulled all the bags, all 16 of them, out of the garage.
Can you see the chickens behind the pile waving at me like they are about to board the pop can train?
Then we loaded the vehicle.
The passenger seat was filled up.
The bench behind the passenger seat was filled up.
There were three kids in there as well. This might be impressive since I drive an Excursion which is no small vehicle. I suppose if you were a vehicle, you might be impressed with my vehicles ability to hold up in such a situation. If you aren't a vehicle, or a person who drinks pop, this may seem gluttonous to you. I don't care..... I think my love of pop gives me character (or so I tell myself in my most shameful moments).
When I got there I grabbed about 5 bags and told the boys to unload the rest of the truck for me. They would come in with their shirts over their noses. As soon as they had brought the last bag in they disappeared into the hot truck while I stood there, in my white t-shirt, feeling betrayed and abandoned. I felt like I was on display. Big neon arrows blinking over my head. Look who loves her pop! Look who loves her pop! I stood there for 40 minutes. On display.
The tension and the pressure of just standing there, waiting, was intense. "Don't judge me!" I wanted to yell. "You don't know what I have to put up with. You don't know what drives me to drink this beautiful nectar of the gods!!" This would have been way over dramatic, I know, but the pressure. No one talking. Just counting and counting and counting.......
When my little counting man was done he handed me, with his filthy sticky rubber gloves (can you imagine what his hands must have been like under there) my little piece of paper and I walked the walk of shame to the cash register.
$107.65. This is either very very good or really super bad. I left the depot.
When I returned to the truck, and saw three pink cheeked, sweaty kids I knew justice had been served. Slurpees anyone??
(Jack asked if we made enough money to buy everyone a slurpee. Ummm.... yes.)
Were lessons learned? Always.
1. Going to the bottle depot is a job better suited to the man and his ability to handle being filthy most of the time. And,
2. Showers are best had AFTER one goes to the bottle depot for what seems like a good chunk of their afternoon.
I need to drink something.......from a can.