My Best Friend is a Dumpster


As the aging process drags on, I realize that my outlook on friendship has changed. This latest epiphany reveals a more pragmatic approach: My new BFF is a dumpster.

Getting older alters your outlook on life, particularly when it comes to making friends. Paraphrasing the great Jerry Seinfeld, people over 30 aren’t actively seeking out new friends. We’re not even interviewing.

Why? Because it’s damn hard. You have to get to know them; you can’t just Google their background and determine right away if you share the same taste in restaurants. Who has time for that?

Enter my epiphany: Befriend a dumpster.

I befriended Dennis, my personal dumpster bud, about two weeks ago. At my behest, the family was going to clean out the basement, where stuff had accumulated in so many sedimentary layers that veins of oil were beginning to form.

This was a clean-up of toxic waste dump proportions, and it far exceeded Waste Management’s weight limits for weekly pickup. So I called for Dennis.

He was delivered by a kindly handler, who backed him into our driveway. Dennis 14 feet long by 8 feet wide by four glorious high. 12 cubic yards of glorious space, ravenous for the detritus of our downstairs.

Understand that I’ve devoted my life to cleaning out the clutter. There’s been a lot of blood, sweat and tears shed over the years as I’ve worked diligently to keep a path clear to the electrical box in the basement. I’d been waiting for Dennis for a long, long time.

When Dennis arrived in our driveway, I rushed out and embraced him, tears rolling down my street. “You’re here! You’re here!” I cried out. My wife, observing her husband sobbing into the shoulder of a dumpster, hurried the children inside.

I spent that night literally inside Dennis, camping out in the 20 below Wisconsin weather. And as I thought about all he had to offer, I decided this was the way it was going to be. Forever.

Benefits of Befriending a Dumpster


Before you scoff at the notion of befriending a dumpster, let me illustrate the benefits:

  • Enjoy a man cave with a view. Why retreat to the basement for 12 cubic feet of unencumbered space? The dumpster is an open-air retreat that’s all your own. None of the wife’s cosmetics overflowing into my bathroom drawers. None of the kids clothes heaped everywhere.
  • Build a fire in it. The dumpster, at least when it’s somewhat empty, is made of metal, so you can build a fire in it. Hell, once you start filling it up, you can burn your garbage. Men love to burn stuff, and Dennis is happy to host.
  • Talk to no one. Men like to sit and stew in their own juices, staring aimlessly into space and silently praying no one will ask them to fix something. Dennis understands. He won’t say anything to you. He’ll just house you in his six foot wide womb, allowing you to nurse on the teat of silent togetherness.
  • Hate that damn treadmill together. You can’t figure out what to do with that freakin’ treadmill that’s been broken for four years? Dennis hates it as much as you do. Throw that piece of crap into Dennis, and he’ll take it away for you, no questions asked.

I purchased Dennis after a week in my driveway. Flat-out bought him, which pissed off m’lady to no end. The hardwoods were in need of a re-do, but I’d instead opted for the friendship of a large waste receptacle.

Fortunately, out in Dennis’s cozy confines, I can’t hear her gripping. I spend most of my time here. On occasion, it gets a little cluttered with crap, but then I ship him out to the landfill. Then he returns and we start anew.

My advice to you: Find your own dumpster. Make it your BFF. Your basement will be clean, your wife will be pissed, and you’ll be sitting in a 12 cubic foot garbage can in a lawn chair. Forget down in the dumps. Join Dennis and me, and get pumped in the dumpster.

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