Nebulous Mooch

I arrived home this morning to a note on my door. This note informed me that if I continued to keep my Valet Waste container outside during daylight hours I would incur a $25 fine per incident. This angered me greatly because, as I previously explained, the ergonomically designed Valet Waste container is much larger than the container I currently use and will not fit conveniently in my apartment.

I decided that I would return the container to the office and decline Valet Waste services. When I walked into the office with the large black trash can in hand, the women who worked there all looked shocked. Reluctantly, one asked me if she could help me. I explained my problem and she referred me to the property manager who was just coming in the door. So I explained the situation to her. “Why don’t you just put it in your pantry?” she said, like I hadn’t thought of that before.

“I have food, percussion instruments, microphone stands and three hurricane kits in my pantry. It won’t fit,” I told her.

“You have to find a place for it.”

“There is no place for it. I have too much stuff in my apartment already.”

“Why don’t you just put it in your pantry?” She said this like she hadn’t just suggested it a few seconds earlier.

I placed the can on the floor in front of one of the workers desks and said, “I have a good idea, I can just leave it here. That way it’ll be inside.”

“The can has to be in your apartment when you move out or else you’ll be fined,” the property manager replied.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick it up before I move out and put it back in my apartment.”

“You can’t leave it here. It must be kept in your apartment.” She perched her drawn-on lips. “Other tenants have tried to refuse the service but you can’t. It’s the new rule.”

“Rule? How is it a rule that I have to keep this thing in my apartment?”

“All of the other complexes owned by our company are doing it and most tenants love the service.” She said this like this information would somehow change my mind.

“Well I don’t,” I said. Most other tenants are too lazy to walk a few feet to the compactor, I thought.

“Don’t worry, you’re not getting charged for it. Valet Waste fees won’t be added until you sign your next lease.” She must be on crack if she thinks I’m signing another lease here.

“Living here gets more ridiculous every day,” I said as I picked up the Valet Waste can and marched out of the office.

I should’ve asked her if she had anything else she might want to store in my apartment, like a large suitcase or a small car. The suitcase could sit it in the living room in front of the sofa. Maybe I could use it as a coffee table. I guess I was mistaken, but I was under the impression that I would only have to keep my possessions in my apartment. I didn’t know I’d have to keep theirs too.

My husband said that I should’ve asked to see a floor plan of our apartment so she could show me where I should keep the Valet Waste can. Then I should’ve pointed out that the square footage on the plan should read 808 instead of 810 as they are taking up two square feet of space with a Valet Waste trash can. I should’ve asked her if that meant I only had to pay rent on 808 square feet of living space instead of 810. If they want to charge me $25 a day for leaving their Valet Waste can outside, I should charge them $25 for every time they turned my water off for the day.

The Valet Waste can is now being used to hold microphone stands. I’ll be taking my own trash to the compactor again. I’m considering starting a protest group for residents opposed to Valet Waste. We could picket and barricade the property manager’s office door with our Valet Waste cans.

They’ve been making some changes at my apartment complex: painting buildings, fixing the pool, charging to use the racket ball and basketball courts, requiring residents to register their cars. There is a sign on the main office building that reads, “Pardon our progress.” It’s like saying, “Excuse the mess.”

Now, as a special new service for their residents, they’re offering Valet Waste Services. When we got the first flier about it last month, my husband was not happy. “People are so lazy they can’t take their own trash a few yards to the dumpster,” he said. “Is this the reason they raised our rent $200?”

Two weeks ago, a black trash can appeared at our door with the words “Valet Waste” written on it in white letters. The instruction sheet it came with tells us to keep our “Valet Waste” trash can inside during the day, and not to put it outside until after six in the evening. “Leaving your trash can outside will result in service interruption,” it reads. The can is too big to fit under the kitchen sink, where our old trash can is stored. We don’t have any where else to put it so we leave it outside. Our service is yet to be interrupted.

I checked out the Valet Waste website. On the website they say that the trashcans are ergonomically designed to fit in any apartment. They need to redesign those cans because they don’t fit in my apartment. How do you make a trash can ergonomic anyway?

Trash collection is promptly at eight. There are a lot of buildings at this complex. In order to have everyone’s trash picked up promptly at eight, they must have a worker collecting trash at every building. That’s a lot of workers. On their website they claim that this adds to apartment safety. That depends on who their employees are.

Before we had Valet Waste, I used to see people leave bags of trash on their cars for half the day before they lazily drove the trash to the compactor. For them, Valet Waste is just what they needed. I liked taking out the trash. The short walk was nice, but I’m using Valet Waste because, whether I use it or not, I’m still paying for it. I just take longer empty-handed walks now.

I love checking the mail. In the afternoon, I look forward to walking to the mailbox and opening it up to see what I got. Usually, it’s stacks of coupons for things I’d never buy or ads for things I don’t need–junk. Anything addressed “Resident” automatically goes into the trash.

Sometimes the box is completely empty. Those are bad days. I always stick my hand into the box anyway to make there’s not something in there I didn’t see. The cold metal against my palm is disappointing. No mail for me today.

My arm is long enough to reach it all the way to the back of my box and angle my wrist to reach into one the boxes around mine. I could ignore the fact that the mail isn’t addressed to me and happily read it. I love the feeling of opening an envelop. While stealing someone else’s mail would lessen the disappointment of finding my own box empty, the jail time I could serve would dampen it just a bit. I think that’s a federal offense. Though I’ve considered it, I never would because I’m completely law abiding.

When I stick my hand into that box and feel envelop, excitement fills my heart. Even if it’s my car payment, it’s something special for me and that makes me feel good. Email is good too, but you can’t hold it in your hand. Nothing beats mail, letters, cards, even bills. I’m a big mail fan.