copyright © 1999 Nick Clark

"THE GARBAGEMAN, ALVIN MARLEY" IS COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR

The Garbageman, Alvin Marley

monologue by Nick Clark (nrclark@blue.weeg.uiowa.edu)

(ALVIN Enters with a full thirteen gallon trash bag. He wears a uniform with no name tag .)

Hi. I'm your garbageman. You probably guessed by my cologne. I can tell a lot about you from your garbage. I admire you. I feel like I know you. Your garbage is... you have some really exciting garbage. Most people's garbage just tells me what they do for a living and in their spare time. If they're a slob or really tidy or what

A few years ago I had a guy who actually alphabetized his trash. At first I thought he was just really neat - made nice orderly piles out of everything. Then I realized that he was even more neurotic than I had thought. But he's not the reason I came to your door tonight...

He must have sorted it outside the bag first, and then transferred it in, 'cause the Z's were always on the bottom and the A's on the top. He organized them by the name of the kind of thing they used to accompany. Popsicle sticks under P, full vacuum cleaner bags under V, you know. So, he was anal. He was really anal. He died. Of stress, probably. You'd think the responsibility of alphabetizing the garbage week after week would have killed him a lot sooner. But I really wonder what he did with the packages to things he used while he was alphabetizing.

That's not why I'm here, though. Your trash. Your Magnificent refuse...

I suppose it would have been about as worthwhile for the guy to sort out everything and just throw out popsicle sticks one week, vacuum cleaner bags the next egg cartons after that. Maybe years later I'd have to carry away a bag full of nothing but used condoms. (Shudders).

Then there was this other guy. This was back before I got on this route. He hardly threw anything away. Ever. I don't know what he did with everything. The TV was usually on when we passed his house, so I figured there was somebody home. He wasn't a big recycler, cause when he did throw something away, it was usually pop bottles and milk jugs. Soup cans and things like that, you know?

Your trash talks to me, though. There's really something here about the kind of person you are right now. What you think and obsess about. The kind of things you don't want in your life. The things you really need.

Hey what do you think of my new uniform, huh? Do I look like a garbageman? I haven't gotten the name tag yet. Oh, my name's Alvin, by the way. You're Elsa. I know. I've read your trash. It's okay if you just call me Garbageman though. I don't mind. Really I don't. I hope I'm not creeping you out - just a stranger coming to your door and telling you that I know all about you. Though, by your garbage, you don't seem like the kind of person to take anything for granted - especially not the possibility that someone knows more about you than you may have thought.

You haven't slammed the door on me yet.

Are you flattered? Somebody cares about you. Finds your junk absolutely fascinating. I never saw your face or heard your voice until now. The contents of your garbage-can have been enough to hold my interest in you for the past year and a half. Elsa, I love you. I really do. Oh, I mean; don't worry. I don't wanna have sex with you. I know you're probably the kind of person who finds sex fairly disagreeable, yeah? I can understand that. No. I can't. Not really. But I can respect it. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it... I mean, it's not a romantic kind of love I have for you, Elsa. I just really care about you. I love the way you throw things away, all folded up and stamped down so that you can go longer without having to get up and take out the trash. I treasure the things you throw away.

I fell in love with you the first time I lifted a bag of your trash. The plastic was stretched just firm enough. The heft was just right. A practical yet cute and ominously numerical thirteen gallon bag. You're haunted without knowing it. You probably never thought twice about the number of gallons in your trash bag, yet somehow you knew something weird happened whenever you took out the trash.

The real reason I'm here is that I'm being promoted. I'll no longer be able to collect your trash. I'm going to leave this bag here tonight. I have three candidates for my route, and I'll be interviewing them tonight. It's important to me that my replacement understand how special your trash is. I'll bring them by one by one to see how they do.

You can expect the first one at midnight. I'm afraid all this activity will probably keep you awake. It's just that I'm anxious to see that your garbage gets the very best. Okay?

"The Garbageman, Alvin Marley" debuted April 9, 1999.

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