Day 4

10am. Sunday rolls over me slow and easy, like a long incoming tide through the cattails of a saltwater marsh. Thank god. After a shower and a shave I’m feeling man enough to find some breakfast. Out of cereal, which means, inevitably, only one thing: Hot Lips. It’s a bad idea. You know it, I know it- hell the guy making it probably knows it. But last time I checked Rachel Ray ain’t in my kitchen making scrambled eggs and french toast. Pity. She’s a button.

12:13pm. Pop a couple of Tums and head out to L’s. Wave at Grandma through her screen door. Still alive, check. Inspect trashcan with high hopes- hopes that are crushed when the lid is removed. The trash is still there. More mystery: the yard debris can is gone- or more accurately: emptied and returned to its place by the side of the house. What in the wide, wide world of sports is going on here? Executive decision: put entire trashcan in the back of the truck. I’ll get rid of it at work. The piece of mind is worth the hassle.

Lots of mail, most of it junk. House seems fine, no ants or squatters. I have my little watering can, so the plants ought to be a snap. Halfway through I spill some water on the mantle. Paper towel- quick! Spin, and smash shin into coffee table. Hop around the room cursing and vowing to destroy table with chainsaw and dynamite and then burn entire house down. Regain composure. Check shin and confirm it is bleeding. Re-commit to table smashing plan. Finish watering plants.

1pm. In the bathroom more puzzles. Normally confident when flushing, I am immobilized by the dual-flush system of the toilet. Press the little button or the big one? I note there is one little bump on one and two little bumps on the other. Braille? I select button “number one.”

1:11pm. Renew love of Too Much Joy. Burn the disk. One small victory for the home team. Scan the house one more time and head out the door. Mission accomplished. Next week some other soul will be minding the shop. I just have to get rid of this trash and I’m home free.

Mental note to bring shin pads the next time I come out.

Day 3

When I get up I have a headache. Most of my crew are down with colds and it feels like I may be next up to get my ticket punched. Hot shower and cereal helps. The sun is still shining, so we'll tough it out and get to it. It's all in your head, right?

L's neighborhood is quiet at 8:30am, but I get a sinking feeling as I get close to the house. The trash man hasn't come yet. Aren't these guys supposed to be in and out before you wake up? I pause long enough outside the house to verify the trash is still in the can. Don't even need to put it in park. Fraggle Rock. I'll have to come back out later.

Mental note to buy Advil.

Day 2, Part 2 (The Deuce)

It's a better day out in the world: no rain and some blue sky believe it or not. Everything's still soggy and it's still early enough for traffic, but I'm going out, not in, so it's only an observation for me, not a heartache.

Rolling in to L's neighborhood. Stop at a stop sign and see a white-as-a-wedding-dress dog in the bushes staring at me. I give him a smile and get nothing in return. This dog may as well be carved into Mt. Rushmore with all the emotion I'm getting. Impassive. Still as the deepest lake in winter. Kinda pisses me off. I've got the Leppard on the stereo and my sunglasses on. You wanna try me out Lassie? I give him the hairy eyeball, full intensity. Nada. We lock in like twin arm wrestlers. 30 seconds. A minute. Nothing. I'm good, can go all day buddy. You don't even know. I have a belly full of cereal and you are going down like an '08 republican. If he hears the car behind me, he doesn't show it. Total commitment. Me, I'm surrounded by all the Hysteria. Oblivious. Finally there's an impatient "WTF?" honk. Kujo looks first. Moving on.

My hunch pays off and it only takes a minute at the house to find a barrel of trash. Down to the curb. It's never that easy though, is it? The twist is: more yard debris. The can is obviously L's. So whose twigs are already by the street? Grandma? There's peach-fuzz mold all over the stuff in L's can. It wasn't left here yesterday. I don't like the way this caper is shaking out, but I'm not in charge. I decide to leave it. There are other mysteries left to solve today, like "what am I having for lunch?" and "can I afford to get some more gas?" I don't like leaving a client in the lurch, but I'm not likely to get any answers from the cracks in the sidewalk or the leaves in my tea. Or Belize. The earth will keep spinning.

As I roll out I pass albino Benji cruising the sidewalk. Head down, he doesn't even give it a try as I pass by. Better luck next time bubba. Mental note to get a real life.

Day 2

I'm in the shower when it hits me like a warm dollop of Gerber's flung from and angry baby's fist: the trash is there alright, I just didn't look in the right place. The note at the house was a red herring- I should have stayed with my instincts. There is trash in the cans outside- I'd bet my pension on it. L warned me I'd have to "take it to the curb." I thought he was telling me to shut up, but I guess he was being straight. The note is for the next guy, Mr. Week 2. By then the trash will just be a memory. Like that time L "needed some more trouble" in the bathroom.

I know what I have to do. Time to saddle up the pony and ride out one more time. But first, cereal. Most important meal of the day.

Day 1

It has been raining hard in the City of Roses. Our neighbors to the north have suffered the worst of it; flooding and "voluntary evacuations" for the last few days. Still, a hundred year flood isn't going to water the plants. I have a job to do.

It is dark by the time I get to the house. No problem with the front door- I have a key. But the light switch apparently only turns the lights outside on and off. I have to stumble into the kitchen to find the answer. I brought milk, so into the fridge it goes. There are the instructions, right on the kitchen counter. Seems pretty simple, but I have a problem. In the ultimate text message, L requested I "take out the trash." In the writen instructions it is clear I "shouldn't have to take the trash out." I can't find any trash. No rubbish anywhere. Somebody cleaned the place out. Screw it. Plants next.

I don't have a good track record with plants. Maybe I don't talk to them the right way. But they've never said a nice thing about me either. I know this: if the soil is dry it is time for a drink. Plus, the instructions help. But there is a new problem. No watering can. Sure, grab a glass tough guy. Sounds great and all, but in practice it ain't so easy to get the water out of the glass and into the little nooks and crannies. Deal with it. Mental note to bring a proper jug. Lemons are still green. L denies they are limes, but who's the pirate?

Upstairs to check email and there is a sudden banging on the front door. What, I'm gonna be the guy who gets assaulted randomly while watering the plants? Great. Down the stairs, open the door. Grandma. Must be the neighbor. Left her keys somewhere, has to go back and get them. I'm in charge of watching for her kids. They are arriving soon and need to wait for her. Fine. No problem-o. Better than the anticipated home invasion. Somehow the scene reminds me of Blazing Saddles. Between us grandma is a little wired. Still bucketing down outside.

Back upstairs. Too much music to copy- probably won't get to any of it. Mental note to bring blank CDs.

Time to wrap it up. Back to the kitchen, collect the P90X. DVD confusion. Sudden banging on the kitchen window and I think I may have pooped my shorts a little. Grandma waving at me through the pouring rain: "Its all right, I found my keys! Thank you for your help!" I'm rapidly becoming an underground success in this town.

Mail in the box, lights off. Door locked. Yard debris in the can by the curb. Whose is it? Check next time. Really raining but I'm back in the truck. Start it up and remember the milk. Billions of Blue Blistering Barnacles. Back inside, grab the milk.

Mental note to pick up cereal on the way home.