Fish Tales

Corny demonstration

Before moving to Singapore, the tallest building I’d ever lived in was three stories high. So, being up on the 24th floor introduced a few changes. Notably trash duty. That weekly ritual of packing-up the garbage and hauling it out to the curb is long gone.

No more just remembering tomorrow is garbage day while crawling into bed the night before. No more racing to move the trash can to the curb because the garbage truck woke you while picking up the neighbor’s refuse. No more pesky notes posted on your door from the HOA reminding you that empty trash cans blown into your the lawn look unsightly. No more guessing when trash day is when the regular day landed on a public holiday. No more grumbling under your breath because your neighbor continually places his trash can on your curb and not his own. No more picking up trash strewn halfway down the block because the neighborhood kids who, for whatever reason always decide to congregate in front of your house, knocked the can over on a windy day. And, most importantly, no more making up elaborate excuses documenting why you can’t take the trash out that week. And I conjured up some good ones, trust me.

Now, everything has changed. The convenient trash chute right off the kitchen works on an as-needed basis. Just open the door and bombs away. There’s absolutely no need for a trash can in the kitchen.

When I moved here, the trash chute served somewhat as a novelty item. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing how much noise I could make while deposing items down the concrete cylinder. For example, I found if I spun two liter soda bottles while dropping them in, they would hit one side of the chute for each floor. But, by far the best is glass… that initial ‘pop’ as it breaks and then hundreds of smaller pieces falling and falling and falling. That still hasn’t gotten old.