When Harry Hapless first bought his house, everything inside was old. The refrigerator, the washing machine, the windows. Even the garbage can was ancient. It was a rusty, dented embarrassment, the type Oscar the Grouch would feel right at home in. One of the first things he did when he moved in was to rush out and buy a new one. A sleek, modern model, tall and light and plastic. He loved it and taking out the garbage became a pleasure rather than a chore.

The old can was just a mess and he couldn’t wait to get rid of it. But his car was too small to cart it to the dump, so he’d have to try and simply throw it out. But that presented him with an interesting challenge. How do you convince the garbage men to take away a garbage pail? Their job is to pick up the contents of cans, not the cans themselves!

Harry decided to write a note in magic marker. “Dear garbage men,” it said. “Please take me away. I am garbage.” He taped it to the can and put it out front the night before the next pickup.

As usual, the banging and clanging of the sanitary engineers carrying out their duties startled him from his dreams. But this time, instead of burying his head under the pillow, Harry jumped out of bed and ran downstairs, eager to make sure that the old can was finally gone.

Unfortunately, when he got to the front of his house, there it was, as ugly and brazen as ever. The note was still there, and Harry couldn’t understand why the men didn’t take it. He started to run down the street, after the truck, as quick as his slippered feet could carry him. But it pulled onto the main road and sped away before he could catch up.

 

The night before the next pickup, Harry set his alarm early. This time, he wouldn’t rely on any note. He would talk to them himself and personally make sure they took the can. When the truck pulled up the next morning, Harry was waiting. A garbage man jumped off the back, where he had been hanging, ran to the house and smiled at Harry. He picked up the can, realized it was empty, and tossed it to the ground. Then he turned back to the truck.

“Uh, excuse me...” Harry said. The garbage man stopped and faced him. “Uh... I was wondering if you could also take this can... You see, I’d like to get rid of it...”

The man looked at him, confused. “Ehchaka b’lam...” he said. “N’b’lama falemblesh...”

Harry frowned. This would be more difficult than he thought. He pointed toward the can. “This can... This can here... it’s garbage...”

A light of understanding lit up the man’s face. “Ahh! Yah, yah, yah!” He pointed toward the can. “Schlempa gahbage c’han. Yah, yah yah, gahbage c’han!” He smiled to Harry. “Ghood B’hye!” Then he hopped onto the back of the truck.

“No, wait,” Harry said, “you don’t understand...” The man held on with one hand and waved with the other. Harry ran to the front of the truck. “Excuse me,” he shouted to the driver. “Sir? Can I talk to you a moment?”

The driver stuck his face out the window and rose his hand to his forehead in a salute. “Ehchaka b’lama!” he shouted. Then he waved and the truck drove away.

 

Harry made up his mind. He had had enough. When the next scheduled pickup came, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

When the truck pulled up Harry picked up the can himself.

The garbage man cocked his eyebrow and watched. “N’b’lama gorendish...”

Harry raised the can and threw it into the back of the truck.

The garbage man’s eyes shot up in horror. “N’b’lama forecktish!” he shouted. “N’b’lama forecktish!” He ran to the truck, pulled the can out and threw it back to the ground.

“No, no!” Harry said. “You don’t understand...” He grabbed the can. “I’m throwing it out... It’s garbage!” He tossed it into the truck.

“N’b’lama! N’b’lama!” The garbage man was shouting at the top of his lungs now. He pulled out the can and fiercely threw it down. It hit the ground with a thud. “E’checka’b’lama forecktish! B’hiltima portesh!”

The driver stepped out of the truck and walked over.

Now Harry was mad. “Listen to me, you idiots!” he yelled. He pointed to the can. “I don’t want that anymore! It’s a rusty old piece of junk and I want to throw it out.” He picked it up. “Now just leave it in your truck and take it away!”

But before he could he could toss it in the driver, a very large man, stepped in front of him. “N’b’lama forecktish s’klima toro b’tishalim.” He spoke softly but there was an undertone of menace in his voice that made Harry shiver. “B’hiltima portesh toro b’tishalim forecktish.” He grasped Harry’s collar in his hand and pushed. Harry tumbled to the floor, can and all.

The driver walked back to his cabin and the other garbage man hopped on the back of the truck. With his free hand he touched his thumb to his chin and made a fist. “Sh’ricktellesh forecktish bhatala!” he yelled as the truck drove away.

Harry slowly pulled himself up from the ground. He wasn’t hurt, except for his pride. He looked at the can and sighed. There comes a time when the only thing to do is give up. He was stuck with it after all.

 

But, unfortunately for Harry, the matter didn’t end there. A few days later, when he checked his mail, he was surprised to see a very official looking registered letter. It was a summons! He was ordered to appear before the Third Circuit Municipal Sanitation Tribunal. Garbage Court! He read further and discovered that he had been charged with interfering with sanitary engineers in the lawful performance of their duty.

The trial was presided over by Judge Frank Sinarate, a grizzled old ex-garbage man himself. Harry took the stand and the judge began questioning him. From the beginning it was clear he had no sympathy at all for the defendant. “They wouldn’t except your refuse and you thought that gave you the right to assault them?” he asked.

“No, no!” Harry pleaded. “I didn’t assault them. I just tried to get them to take the can...”

“Don’t you know that civilians are forbidden to insert materials into the disposal units?”

“Well, no... That is, I...”

“Your kind makes me sick, you know that? You take sanitary engineers for granted and you think you can just push us around and mock us. Well, you have no idea what goes into refuse collection, you understand? No idea at all! Do you know how dangerous it is to interfere with the process? I don’t give a dog’s ear about your worthless life, but you could have hurt the collectors!”

“But... I...”

“Just get off the stand and sit down!”

Harry returned to the bench and the garbage man was called up.

“Now, son,” the judge said softly, “why don’t you tell me exactly what happened, in your own words? Don’t worry, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“N’chkala b’tishalim forecktish,” the garbage man said, “Semblish torepel b’tishalia!”

The judge shook his head. “I understand. It must have been terrible for you.”

The garbage man nodded. “Sh’lapet forecktish porsenemblia h’allemba fortish!”

“Horrible, horrible...”

The judge stared at Harry with a look of pure hatred. Then he glanced at the bailiff. “All right... Before I find the defendant guilty, I suppose I should look at the evidence. Bring it in.”

The bailiff nodded and stepped out. A few seconds later he was back, carrying the can.

“Bring it up here,” the judge said. “Let me see...” Suddenly he gasped and leapt to his feet. He ran from his desk and started to examine the can. “My god!” He turned to Harry. “Do you have any idea what you’ve got here?”

Harry stared at him dumbly.

“This is a 1953 Morrison Le Coup! It’s one of the rarest disposal units of the last five decades!” The judge’s eyes glazed over. “They used to be quite common. Dumped a good number of ‘em into the back of a truck myself, in my time....” He began to fondly rub the can. “Those were the days... They don’t make ‘em like this anymore...” He looked down at it. “This thing isn’t in such bad shape. A little paint, some polish, it’d be good as new...”

The judge’s face hardened and he looked at Harry. “This is a much more serious case than I realized. This can is unquestionably worthy of protected status. You could be charged with attempted destruction of a historical artifact!” His eyes narrowed to twin slits. “Unless...”

The judge put down the can and stepped next to Harry. He leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Bemused, Harry nodded. The judge smiled and ran behind his desk. “I find the defendant not guilty,” he shouted. He picked up his gavel and banged it twice. “Case dismissed!”

 

If we go the neighborhood these days on a scheduled pick-up day and follow the garbage truck as it makes it’s rounds, we’re certain to see it stop at Harry’s house.

Harry will probably be standing there, by his new plastic can, waiting to hand it off the garbage man, who will dump the contents into the truck. All is forgiven now, so the garbage man will pass it back gently and then wave as he hops on the back. He’ll call out a cheery “F’lem b’hat hai!” as the truck drives away.

If we keep watching, eventually we’ll see it arrive at the home of the judge. He’ll doubtless be standing by the curb also, holding a shiny, smooth, classic can, lovingly restored to pristine condition. The garbage man will pull off his gloves and put on a fresh pair. The driver will hop out and assist. Very carefully, they’ll pick up the can and gently, gently empty it’s contents. “F’lem h’talit morecktish,” the garbage man will say softly as they hand it back to the judge. The driver will nod. “Yah, f’lem h’talit lish!”

The judge will lovingly rub the can as he rests it by the curb. “You’re right boys! She’s a beauty all right...” He’ll watch as they drive away and then he’ll look down at the can and smile. “A real beauty...”

And if we stay for just a few moments longer, we can watch as the truck drives slowly down the road, into the rising sun.