Living Outside The Lines: Dumpster Misadventures

Ugh oh, now I had another problem….how to get myself out! For those unfamiliar with the inner workings of a dumpster, and hopefully that includes most everyone, there are no…

Becky J Miller | Exclusive to Corridor News

It started out like any one of the other approximately forty-eight annual Sundays. No one could have predicted the horribly wrong turn this particular one would take. And I do mean no one.

That morning, both my husband and I showered, dressed, and left together for church, nothing unusual so far. This particular Sunday was the fifth one of the month, so instead of a regular service, our church hosted a family fellowship. We’d dined on a fabulous breakfast while enjoying the company of many.

After everyone’s tummies were full, and all conversations had run their course, the fellowship hall was cleared, cleaned, and put back in order. We locked up, headed home, changed into old working clothes, and set out on foot.

The plan was to work at the parsonage for a few hours, bathe the dog, then walk her until she “air-dried”. Reasonable plan, yes? Since we pass dumpsters on the way, it also seemed logical to bag up our trash and discard it. And here is where things started to derail.

In addition to the trash bag my husband carried, I held a bag of “not trash.” Chatting amiably as we passed the dumpster, my husband tossed his bag inside. Unthinkingly, so did I. AHHH!!!! That wasn’t trash!!! What now???

Looking around, sighing deeply, I knew there was but one option, jump inside and rescue the bag. I know. I know. Disgusting!!

Using the small shelf-like protrusion on the outside to hoist myself up and over, down I went. Thank God I landed feet first! The dumpster had recently been emptied, so I quickly grabbed the “not trash” bag and tossed it out.

Ugh oh, now I had another problem….how to get myself out! For those unfamiliar with the inner workings of a dumpster, and hopefully that includes most everyone, there are no handy dandy protrusions on the inside.

Several failed attempts to gain any kind of leverage left me on the verge of panic. It wasn’t the trash, the bugs, or even the petri dish dumpster walls surrounding me, but rather the thought of making front page of the local newspaper, “Fire Department Rescues Local Pastor’s Wife from Dumpster!”

My tread worn, retired, running shoes made scaling the slick walls impossible. There had to be a way out. I glanced around outside the dumpster, desperate for anything we could use to haul my behind out of the dumpster. There was nothing.

Eventually I managed to get sufficient leverage to raise my body high enough so my husband I could work together to rescue me from the dumpster’s vile confinement.

Finally separated from the trash that briefly held me hostage, the sobbing commenced. It didn’t last long, but my wise husband walked silently beside me while the tears ran their course. Afterwards, he doused me with bleach and suggested next time we just leave the “not trash” in the dumpster and head straight to Wal-Mart for replacements.

Should anyone ever find him or herself in a similar situation, forget the Nike slogan, and just don’t do it! 

Until Next Time,
Becky J Miller
“Warrior Princess”

Becky J Miller is a contributor and is exclusive to SM Corridor News. You can read more of Becky’s columns in Lifestyle.