Country Trash

More often then not, when I use the term “country trash” I’m talking about the bleached-blond with hair teased to epic proportions standing in the doorway of her trailer in a tube top, Lycra Capri-leggings and 4-inch-heeled Marabou mules with a cigarette bobbing up and down between her lips while she’s screeching drunkenly at a blob-shaped pair of greasy coveralls protruding from underneath a Bondo and duct-taped rustbucket.

(I’ll give you a moment now to try to get that image out of your mind.)

Not today.  Today, I’m talking about reason #8 that Country-Living Sucks.  No Trash Pick-Up Service.

Rural folk have the pleasure of piling all their trash in whatever vehicle they don’t want to smell like rotting meat and 4-day old diapers and hauling it all themselves to a “convenience center”.  Basically, this is a gated concrete pad with two or three dumpsters on it staffed by Attila the Redneck, who’s sole purpose in life is to inspect your trash to make sure you don’t throw away something that another hillbilly might want to use.  If you’re lucky it will be open.  If you’re very, very lucky…the dumpsters will still have room in them.

But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.  As a country resident, you don’t want to burn-out the pleasure cortex in your brain by repeating this process too often so you invest in some large plastic garbage cans.  In our case, we have two and each one will hold two full kitchen-sized trash bags of nastiness.  It takes us approximately a week to fill the cans out under the carport.  (Note: all exterior trash must be in the cans or the roaming packs of dogs will home in on any unprotected garbage and have it scattered across the porch and yard in approximately 9.5 minutes).  Additionally, in the 90+ degree heat of summer, the reek of all the accumulated trash increases exponentially each day and usually by Friday I have to hold my breath just to make it into my vehicle.  I won’t even go into details of what you end up with due to the reproductive cycle of the flies and gnats.

Being the really considerate and loving wife, I usually give the husband a 2-day reminder before reaching maximum capacity, so the excitement of the trip can build and make it so much more enjoyable when he disposes it all on the weekends.  Occasionally though, there may be an excessive refuse day, an emergency crop up or he just wants to prolong the anticipation and all outdoor cans end up filled and the kitchen container is overflowing.  In the past, it was easy enough to store a bag on a rug in the corner of the kitchen until the next day.

Thanks to the indoor fur-baby, this is no longer an option.  I have a hard enough time keeping him out of all the wastebaskets in the house (Gah! The dog eats used Kleenex!!!), much less tempt him with only a thin plastic bag between him and yummy trash goodness.  So, what’s a domestic genius to do since stopping the trash-flow isn’t possible?

There you have it…I now have trash piled up on my countertop.

And I’ve become the one thing I swore I would never be…a nagging wife.  Maybe more like a “threatening with bodily harm if you don’t take the trash” wife.

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**Reprint of a blog piece I posted in 2010 on an old blog that’s no longer available.**


  1. We live in the country as well and have what we loving call “The Transfer Station”. As in, we will gladly transfer our stinky, slimy, maggot ridden bags of putrid rotten scraps to your pile of the same. We also have the The Recycling Barn, complete with “store”. I dump it, you take it (and in true country trash fashion, sometimes try to sell it) .

    Liked by 1 person

    1. My country-soul sister! So you know exactly what I mean. We have swap meets to exchange our reusable trash (car parts, craft supplies, clothing, etc.) but that’s the only kind of recycling people around here practice.

      Liked by 1 person

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