City Life, Part Five: Flying Rubbish

Like King Kong Flinging a Bus

I got off from work in Chicago’s South Loop after midnight, recently. As I walked north, through the intersection of Wabash and 13th, on my way to the Red Line at Roosevelt, I heard a clattering. I turned to see one of the corner iron wicker trash receptacles on the other side of Wabash rolling into the middle of the street. A pile of rubbish lay where the receptacle had been.

Behind the rubbish pile was a squatty, disheveled, middle-aged guy huffing and flexing like he had just finished an Olympic clean and jerk. My first thought was that he was having a bad day and had kicked the can (so to speak) so hard that it had toppled over. At any rate, he stomped south, like an angry child, with his teeth clenched and his fingers balled into tight fists.

Being the good citizen that I am, I crossed the street, picked up the can and carried it back to its place so no cars would hit it. I even picked up the decaying rubbish and put it back in the can with my bare hands.

There was another clattering. I looked up in time to see that same guy hurling another trash can, from the south side of the intersection, into the street, like King Kong flinging a bus.

Our eyes met. His said, “You wanna pick this one up, too!?”

It is in my nature to accept absurd macho challenges. I imagined following him for the next 45 minutes, carefully cleaning up his desecrations, the two of us aware of our roles in a duel (of sorts), but never actually saying a word to each other.

Too tired, though, I continued on to the train, leaving him to his solitary endeavor.