White Trash

There are some things about cabin living that are more convenient than others. Case in point is the trash. Out here in the wild, there isn't a local Garbage Man--or rather --"Waste Management" service to pick up the garbage and smash it into their big truck. So it tends to pile up until someone does something about it.

When we lived here, that someone was my guy, Andy. But he's busy earning a living in California so that leaves me with the "Waste Management" job while we're here on extended holiday. So, today I loaded up the garbage into our trailer. Well, technically Seth loaded the garbage because he is such a helpful, obedient son.
And because he wanted me to take him into town to see a movie with his friends.


He took some time tying everything down and strapping the trash cans in and then we headed for the dump--or rather--"Transfer Station".
Not long after we turned onto the main road, I noticed we were being followed rather closely by an older model white car. I could tell it was an older model because of the dents and rust. I was worried about keeping the trailer on the road and was probably going a little slower than they would have liked but the road is too narrow and twisty (I was going to say "windy" but that could be construed as "the wind was blowing" which we all know doesn't usually have any effect on one's ability to pass another vehicle. The English language is so interesting. But I digress...) to pass.
Then I noticed they had their flashers on. I couldn't see that before because they were hugging so tight to the rear of my trailer. Then, the passenger started waving what appeared to be a white flag out his window.
"Is he surrendering?" I wondered out loud.
"Huh?", said Seth.
As I mentioned before, the road was narrow and twisty and there really wasn't any place to pull over. But I slowed down and pulled off as much as I could in a wide spot on the shoulder.
They pulled up beside me and I observed that the passenger had most of his teeth and a rather jaunty leather cap pulled tightly onto his skull. The driver was charming in her numerous tattoos which were displayed to best effect by the tube top she was sporting. Or rather the tube top that was clinging rather precariously to her ample bosom. She leaned across her passenger to shout:
"A bag of trash flew out of your trailer back there and landed on the side of the road--it burst open and there is trash everywhere!"
"Yeah!" Said her passenger.
"We would have picked it up, but I don't have anything to put it in."
So, in this scenario, I'M the WHITE TRASH! My garbage is flying out as I drive along oblivious to the havoc I'm wreaking out here in the untainted beauty of our natural resources.
While this nice couple had actually considered picking it up for me.

All I needed was an Indian--or rather--"Native American"
standing there next to our trash with a tear
running down his cheek.