I normally don't mind (anymore) if people are morbidly obese. I can look past that. Combo it with the tiny green tank top and the thong, though, and that just tears it. I told her I had no jurisdiction over toter placement (which might have been a complete lie) and ran to the familiar safe haven of my truck cab, where I coaxed Luverne into throwing down the fastest quarter mile ever performed by a trash truck.
A later stop brought me to the house of a large family who were temporarily living without the convenience of indoor pluming. Bless their hearts. No problem for them, though, the clever little buggers. They just rigged up a toilet seat to fit the trash can and threw up some cardboard walls around it. Outhouse in 5 minutes. Of course, I only pieced all this together after I dumped the can (which was just sitting innocently by the road like every other can) saw the contents, and then observed the rest of the makeshift facilities tucked neatly in the corner, ready for another week of action, it would seem.
I wanted this job. I sought it out. When all is said and done, I'm still enjoying it. I'm not second guessing myself for an instant. Sometimes, though, I want to throw off the gloves, leave the truck idling by the road, and just walk away.
Probably another half a year or so and I'll have had my fun, and I'll move on.