Everyone else’s is dark brown and ours is green. For that and other reasons, this is kind of a special deal.
For over ten years there’s been a sharing arrangement with the garbage can. When the dead landlord was alive, we had a bigger thing we called “the dumpster” that I burned up one night by putting ashes in it. (Yes, I thought they were cold, and everything was neatly bagged.) It served three households: his, the neighbors’, and ours. After he died, we continued sharing with the neighbors, who opted for the smaller size that you see here. They were more or less in charge of it, apparently, due to the garbage setup having been included in the rent, and when the neighbor lady inherited their adobe, it became “their” garbage can.
I didn’t mind the change so much except that no one asked me. The new can couldn’t hold a broken office chair, dead TVs, old tires, roadkill feral hogs, and yard waste like the old one did. Somehow I adapted, though, and things smoothed out. After a second swivel chair bit the dust, I found an old wrecked minivan nearby to hide it in. There was other broken furniture inside that wasn’t mine.
When the neighbors moved away, they killed the garbage service, and I had the privilege of establishing my own account. I probably hadn’t done this for us ever, anywhere we’ve lived. The strange thing was, it felt so good.
My wife loves the bright green color. I like establishing control.