La basura

I don't like to complain on my blog because I know my issues are petty compared to the people who actually live here and deal with much bigger problems (poor wages, corruption, crime, etc). But I do want to share some of the idiosyncrasies of this great country that some days make me laugh and other days want to scream obscenities from my window.

Many services here are not found in stores but rather in trucks rolling down the street, announcing their presence with loud piercing speakers. For example, the gas guy has a catchy tune that I like to sing along to every morning. The song reminds me of the Muppet Show theme song, and is followed by a long drawn out "Gaaaaaaaaahhhhhhsssss" that swoops up melodically at the end. When you no longer have hot water, you simply wait for the tune, flag down the driver, and the guy hauls the tank of gas up to your apartment on the third floor.

Some nice fellow on YouTube managed to capture it; listen to this everyday for 3 months in a row and you'll be singing along too...

The bread truck is my absolute favorite, though, and makes me giggle every time I hear his catchy tune.

So, why then, can't the trash guy have a cool jingle to announce his arrival? 

In Izucar, there are no dumpsters to put your trash in and no bins outside the buildings. If you really want to tick off your neighbors, you can leave the bags out for the stray dogs to rip apart, but nobody wants to be "that guy" in the apartment. So you have to listen for a rusted tinny bell that a guy clangs down the street about 3 minutes before the truck actually passes. Then, you and your neighbors scurry to collect all your bags, run down three flights of stairs and then stand in line to hand your collection to the garbage man who throws it in the truck. 

The first time I heard the bell, I was also waiting for the señorita that does my laundry. I dropped my bag of clothes in the hall, scrambled up the 32 stairs, grabbed my two large bags of trash, ran back down the stairs, just in time to see my neighbor look at my laundry bag of two-weeks-worth of clothes as if he were going to throw it in the trash!! 

I don't have a lot of trash; I don't cook and so, therefore, it is mostly just a few take-out boxes. Oh, and have I mentioned I can't flush toilet paper?? (Sorry if that was too much info, but I feel you need to know the small details before you decide you should move here too). 

It would just be nice to not have to have one ear out the window each morning (and afternoon) when I become paranoid that my mini cockroaches will tell their bigger friends that I have plenty of goodies to offer them.  No one in my neighborhood seems to know when and what day the garbage truck will pass; the first time, it was a Thursday at 11:00 am, and the last time was a Wednesday at 1:30 pm.  I could barely hear the bell over the noise of la calle (street). Luckily, my building super yelled "BASURA, BASURA!!" and I was finally able to take out my 3 weeks of trash I had accumulated.

So there it is. I write about how much I love living in this beautiful country, but truthfully, sometimes Mexico stinks.