One Man's Garbage Is Another Man's Refuse

It is times like these I get down on my knees and thank God I don’t have kids. I do that on a fairly regular basis, come to think of it, but now more than ever. You see, in the city where I live, there is a garbage strike. A stinking, rotting, putrid garbage strike.

Being a standup comedian and writer, I produce the infrequent bit of linguistic rubbish, but on the whole I don’t generate a lot of trash. I travel light. I don’t own a house, have a car, have a cottage, have a Seadoo, have a ATV, have a scooter. If I had to, I could fit under my sink. I am that compact.

I don’t like throwing things out. I have newspapers in my office with headlines like “Gary Carter Traded To Mets” and “Ford and Brezhnev meet in Vladivostok”. What little I have I hoard.

So the garbage strike in Toronto is losing its novelty. People are acting like maniacs. I suppose holding onto stinking diapers would test the mettle of anyone, but no reason to get in your car and try to run people over at temporary garbage dumps. Relax, people. Wake up and smell the excrement.

Let’s look at the economic benefits of the garbage strike.

The city is saving money on salaries …

That’s about it. Next point, Bennett.

My point is one man’s garbage is another man’s refuse. The strike will be over one day and we’ll all eventually reminisce about the Garbage Strike of 2009.

Hang on to your memories, people. Life is precious.