But, this is all wrong. It's not raining and warmish out; it's sleeting and freezing out. Of course, I don't discover this until I am halfway down the driveway with the trash.
First of all, I do not bring iced coffee with me this morning because I'm getting a cold and feeling peckish. This makes my morning a little easier because my "carry iced coffee" hand is now free to carry the trash bag outside. On trash day, I routinely go past my car, drop the bag, then double-back to my sedan and take off. Easy-peasey. This morning I figure my routine will go much easier since I am semi-hands-free. I mosey toward the car, slip a little bit, and then...
... Then, I careen past the car and continue down the driveway. Without. Moving. My. Feet.
The iced-over brick driveway has a slight slope to it, and I am slip-sliding away like the Jestons on a space-age conveyor belt; my little feet start madly moving, but they're not making any difference. Still, I am moving toward the street. I manage to stop myself by twisting and turning my body and maneuvering to the small stone edge of the driveway.
I am still holding the bag of trash.
Back, back, back I go with the help of the fence. I grab hold of the car door handle with my free hand, which means that I have to let go of the fence. The trash bag in my left hand weighs me down enough that I start sliding back toward the street. I, however, refuse to let go of the trash bag and I refuse to let go of the car door.
The result of this incredibly brilliant decision is that my legs start doing a split. Suddenly my left leg and trash-filled left hand are heading south, while my right leg heads north in an attempt to support my right arm, which is still clinging for my life to the vehicle. It's like the damn Keystone Kops are trying to take out the trash.
I get myself into the driver's seat of the car and edge slowly and carefully forward with the door still open and the trash still in my hand. When I am close enough to the end of the driveway, I fling the bag a few feet and yell, "Stay there, you fucker!" Moments later, I'm on my way to work safely inside my car. I do well until I arrive at work to discover the parking lot is a sheet of ice. Once again I skate-slide my way to the door, a thirty-second walk on a normal day that takes about two minutes today. But, I have both hands free since I already got rid of the garbage bag.
The trash bag has been picked up! Success! It may not have made it to the regular trash pick-up location, but it made it to the sidewalk. Apparently, that counts for something.
