Have you ever been subjected to the amazing and incredibly depressing book The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein? I felt like that was the moment I became aware of life being finite and that, yes, I would get older and eventually die and hopefully, in the meantime, I wouldn’t just take and take and take and be a terrible disappointment to my parents and humanity. I was six when some well meaning person read it to me, and I think I needed a drink after I got done crying. A drink of chocolate milk you psychos, jeez I didn’t start drinking until I was 14; I’m not a total train wreck.
Where was I? Oh yeah, so I always figured the giving tree was a metaphor. But recently, I have discovered I have my own little version of The Giving Tree, but literally: The Giving Dumpster. Stop laughing, it’s true, I have a giving dumpster.
The Giving Dumpster lives near my apartment. Every couple of weeks, it vomits up a treat for me. And no, I’m not going to tell you where it is because I don’t need a bunch of weirdos lurking near my Giving Dumpster. Weirdos attract tweaked out dumpster divers and the next thing you know there are cigarette butts and fallen out teeth everywhere mixed in with halfway disassembled clock radios. Besides everyone knows you don’t dive in The Giving Dumpster. The Giving Dumpster just gives. Don’t freak out my dumpster, I didn’t seek it out, it found me.
And before you ask, no, it doesn’t talk, goddammit. It’s a frigging magical dumpster, not an animated tree. Though, to be fair, I also try not to speak to it. I don’t want to look crazy.
The treat vomiting has been happening with startling regularity, lately, and the stuff it gives me is really nice. So nice that sometimes I don’t want to take it. I read the book, so I know that if I get greedy I might slowly kill my dumpster. And I would NEVER do anything to hurt my dumpster.
Here are some photos of my Giving Dumpster in action.
There have also been several vacuums, various coffee table and art offerings, a pair of beach cruisers, and an aquarium.
Anyway, if there’s a moral to this story, it’s this: I have a Giving Dumpster and I’m not going to reduce it to a stump to sit on in my golden years. But when I die, just chuck me into it. Maybe it’ll vomit me back out as a rockstar. That does seem to be where this is headed.