Ryan takes out the Trash

I was in a rush. I'd spent too long as usual making myself look presentable - but I was looking pretty, though I say so myself. My waitressing shift was due to start in 20 minutes and I had some bills to pay along the way, so I'd better get a move on.

“Ryan, where’s that tin that was on the fireplace?” I asked my son, who was sitting on the sofa reading a comic book.

“Oh, that old thing? I chucked it in the trash!” he smiled. I nearly fainted.

“BUT THERE WAS £200 IN THERE!!!!” I shouted – desperately worrying whether the bin men had arrived yet.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, mum. I was only trying to be helpful!” he said, sounding a little hurt.

I tried to calm myself down and explained to him that it was very important that we go and find my money tin. Right now. He explained to me that he'd bagged it up with the kitchen trash but he hadn't been able to fit it in our household bin, so he'd taken it out into the alley and put it in a much larger dumpster. He led me out into the alley to show me, lifting the lid on a large, chest high, green container that appeared to be about half full.

"Somewhere in there…" he shrugged. I bit my lip and tried not to go into another rant. He had only tried to be helpful, after all. I asked him nicely if he minded trying to get the bin bag back out again. He wasn't too keen on my suggestion.

“You can’t make me go in there!” spluttered Ryan in disbelief. “You’ll have to do it!”

I guess he was right. I needed that £200 and it wasn’t going to find itself. I took a deep breath and grabbed the edge of the dumpster.

“Wait a minute,” said Ryan. “What about your outfit? You can’t turn up at work smelling like a dumpster. Your customers will complain and you’ll get the sack.”

He was right again – but I really didn’t have time to go back indoors and change my clothes and then change again after I’d got the money back. With my hands on my hips I sighed, rolled my eyes and looked at my grinning son. I knew what he was thinking.

“Come on, mum.” He said teasingly. “It’s not as if I haven’t seen you in your underwear, like, a thousand times before!”

He was right yet again. My boy had quite a history of playing annoying and embarrassing pranks on me - like shutting my dress in a car door - and was no stranger to seeing me in a state of undress. Ryan held his hands out flat and palms upwards, offering to look after my blouse and skirt whilst I went dumpster diving. Reluctantly, I unzipped my skirt, slid it down my thighs, stepped out of it and handed it to Ryan. Then I undid and removed my blouse, folded it neatly and placed it on top of the skirt that he was helpfully looking after. Luckily, the alleyway was deserted and there was only my grinning son to see me in my black seamed stockings, and black lacy underwear. I kept my high heels on as they made it easier to reach up and climb in. I could also give them a wipe afterwards if they got a bit messy.

I grabbed the edge of the dumpster, wrinkled my nose at the disgusting smell, but began hauling myself up nonetheless. It was a bit more difficult than I imagined. I’m a bit of a curvy girl – not really an athlete. I was soon stuck with the lip of the dumpster pressing into my tummy.

“Don’t just stand there laughing!” I snapped angrily at Ryan, looking back over my shoulder and seeing him carefully place my clothes on the floor. “Give me a hand!” – then I added as an afterthought, “But mind where you put your hands!”

I might as well have said nothing at all, as he placed both hands firmly on my butt and pushed hard. All that happened was the hard plastic pressed further into my soft flesh.

“Ryan, you’re not helping!” I seethed through gritted teeth.

“Mum! It’s not my fault if you’re rubbish at climbing,” he said – giving me a SWAT on the backside that made me yelp – but did nothing else to assist me.

“I need to get my leg over!” I said breathlessly. I was really starting to regret this. But I needed that money. Then I felt Ryan gripping both of my ankles and hoisting upwards.

“No! Not both legs! I’ll go in head firrrrrr……SSSTT!!!!” I landed with an unceremonious SPLAT! Surrounded by a kind of hissing noise – as the pressure of me sliding down amongst the tight black bags caused some of the trapped, fetid air to release, almost making me pass out from the sudden assault on my nostrils. I looked up to see the grinning face of my son staring down at me. He had clambered up onto the edge with an agility that made me realise that I should have insisted on him getting into the dumpster – although I was, at the very least, providing him with some entertainment.

“I’m sorry for saying you were rubbish at climbing, mum,” he laughed. “I should have just said you were Rubbish. Full stop!”

I have to admit I must have looked funny. My butt was in contact with the bottom of the dumpster. I could feel the cold plastic against my skin. But the black plastic sacks surrounded me like a kind of  synthetic quicksand – with just my head, shoulders and feet visible amongst the trash. My high-heeled shoes had obviously pierced and burst some of the bags as brown liquid trickled down the length of one of my stockings that was now splattered with wet tea leaves.  Somehow, a banana skin had deposited itself on top of my head. I groaned, flicked away as much mess as I could and struggled to my feet, bursting more bags in the process and making them belch their contents at me. I lost my footing a couple of times more, sinking beneath the black messy sea and emerging each time, covered in my stinky flotsam and jetsam – all the while my son watching and laughing like a hyena.

He kept telling me he could hardly see me any more – that it was getting difficult to tell the difference between me and the rest of the garbage. I tried to ignore him.

“Just tell me which bag I should be looking for!” I snapped.

“How should I know?” he shrugged. “Everything just looks like rubbish down there. Including you!”

He was right again. I looked and felt like rubbish. As I randomly ripped the bags apart the dumpster just got fuller as the refuse expanded. Making it more and more difficult to find anything. Tears began to roll down my cheeks. My son just teased me for my distress.

“Ahhh! Mummy’s a Cry-Baby-Garbage-Girl!”

I’d had enough. The experience was no longer worth it. I’d have paid another £200 just to be out of the garbage and in a nice warm bath right now. My shift had already started without me so I’d probably get the sack anyway. I reached up and managed to get back into the tummy-pressed-against-the-edge position again – but this time facing out of the dumpster. Leaving the trash behind me. Or so I thought.

“Not so fast, Mum,” said Ryan. He knew I was dependant on his help again – having got stuck like this on the way in – and he was determined to have as much fun at my expense as he could. I just hadn’t realised quite how evil his little mind was.

“I don’t think you belong on this side of the dumpster anymore,” he said in a thoughtful tone – as if he was making some sort of decision. I asked him what he meant.

“Well,” he continued, “You were rubbish at looking after your money in the first place; you were rubbish at climbing in; you were rubbish at standing up; you were rubbish at finding the money; you were rubbish at climbing back out; you look like rubbish; you smell like rubbish – YOU ARE RUBBISH!”

I was just staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief. He’d always been a cheeky boy but how dare he speak to his mother like this?!?  From his back pocket he took a set of toy handcuffs – grabbing one of my wrists, slapping on one cuff, then pulling my other arm behind my back and locking them together with a swift expertise that shocked me into dumbfounded silence. I was completely helpless now. Just belly-balancing on the lip of the dumpster. Which direction I went in now was completely up to Ryan.

“So you’re going back where you belong! Back into the trash!” and with that he placed his hand over my face and pushed me backwards with a firm shove.

WHUMP!!! I landed back amongst the refuse – causing a mini explosion of litter to erupt around me and settle again as I flopped into a sitting position. Half an egg shell, with a wet teabag lodged in it, landed with a plop between my boobs. With my helpless hands I just had to leave it nestling there in my cleavage.

I was still speechless. Unable to protest as Ryan said:

“Just shutting the lid while I go fetch something. Don’t want the garbage getting any ideas about being rescued!” and with that, the large plastic lid slammed shut. Everything went black. The sensory deprivation seemed to intensify the smell. It was uncomfortably warm too. A few minutes later, the lid open again and I blinked in the sunlight as I looked up at my son hefting a plastic bucket.

“I knew our neighbour had cleaned out his guttering yesterday,” he said cheerfully. “This mixture of rotting wet leaves, stagnant water and bird poo doesn’t seem very nice. But look at these slugs, worms and woodlice – they seem to be enjoying themselves!”

Slowly, teasingly he was beginning to tip the bucket towards me. I shuddered and whimpered and tears rolled down my cheeks as I started to mouth the word “Don’t….”

SPLUDGE!!!!! The heavy slop hit me all at once, driving my head into my shoulders. He must have been waiting for me to open my mouth – as I got quite a gob-full!

PHUTOOOIEE!!! I spat out a dead catapillar and shook globs of slimy wet horridness out of my hair. I started to scream but it was muffled by the slamming of the lid once again.

“Bye bye, Rubbish!” I heard Ryan mutter as the gunk slid down and lubricated my body so that I descended quickly amongst the remaining full sacks, until only my head was peeping out.

I’m not sure how long it was before I heard the tell-tale beeping of the garbage truck as it reversed up the alley – but I was filled with a mixture of relief, fear and shame. The garbage men would rescue me but they were likely to have a good old chuckle at my sorry state. At least my trashy repulsiveness should stop them taking advantage of a helpless voluptuous girl in her underwear – unless they were really twisted.

The lid got lifted once more and, I don’t know what reaction I was expecting, but the raucous laughter wasn’t a good sign.

“Well looky here!” said one of the garbage men, peering in and pointing at my stupid little head, poking up through the bursting sacks, as his workmate approached and started laughing too.

“It’s amazing what some people will throw away these days,” said the other man, before adding “Someone wasn’t too happy with you, were they?”

I nodded miserably. I didn’t want to get into any explanations. I just whispered in as pathetic, pitiful and helpless voice as possible,

“Can you help me out please?” I almost fainted when they both shook their heads.

“Sorry, love,” the first man said. “The last time we hauled a girl out of the trash we had to complete four different Health and Safety Incident Forms. We’re not doing that again for anyone.”

“She’s not worth the paperwork, is she?” confirmed the other man, shaking his head. Again I was speechless. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights – if that particular deer had been covered in crud and wedged between some bin-bags.

“So I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, little lady. We’re going to pretend we never saw you and we’re going to take you to the landfill with the rest of the trash. Don’t worry, I think we can fit you in there without switching the compactor on….maybe. Once you’ve been dumped, you can make your way home from there if you manage to kick yourself out. You’re just not our problem, I’m afraid.”

I was sobbing silently to myself as the truck's mechanism got attached to the dumpster and I slowly started to lift. I heard one of the men say,

"It's a pity. She looked quite cute."

"Yeah right. Maybe she did - once!" replied the other.

And then I got tipped noisily and painfully into the back of the truck. It wasn't long before I was firmly wedged in again, but my head just happened to be poking up over the back of the truck. That's when I saw Ryan approaching. I was too dejected to even try and speak by now. He took some chewing gum out of his mouth. I winced as he pressed it into my hair.

"Have fun, mum," he said. "The landfill's only about 50 miles away. I'll get my own supper - I'll probably just order pizza or something…" he told me as he held up the money tin I'd been searching for, opened it, took out the wad of bank notes and waved them in front of my face.

Then he slapped the side of the truck and shouted,

"Take her away, lads. Take out the trash!" as the truck's engine grumbled to life.

I bounced up and down amongst the rest of the rubbish and watched him waving and smiling until my son was just a little dot in the distance.

The End

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13.06.10