One of my favorite expressions is “Please don’t assume because I’m nice, I’m stupid.” I would say that’s mostly true, but I do have my moments when nice and stupid go hand in hand. I remember one summer; a “transition” year as I like to call it. I chose to rent a small apartment and give myself a little time to catch my breath and figure out what I was going to do next. It was a cute little triplex in an acceptable neighborhood. There were three triplexes on the driveway, one on each side, and one at the end, a total of nine apartments with the driveway down the middle. The place was quiet, clean, and affordable.
Most of the neighbors kept to themselves, but occasionally our paths would cross at the mailbox or in the driveway. One morning I was wheeling my trashcan out to the curb for pickup at the same time as one of my neighbors. We chatted a bit and talked about the money we could save if we could choose trash pick service every other week instead of weekly, as neither one of us ever filled our can. As we talked trash, I was thinking about my neighbor’s personal situation. I knew a little about her lifestyle and knew the two of us were worlds apart. I also knew she was a single mom with two daughters at home and was a bit strapped financially. So, I made her an offer. If I canceled my trash service, we could share one can and I would pay her for half the monthly expense. This would give her a couple extra bucks in her pocket, and we would have one less can on the street each Friday.
The arrangement seemed to work well for the first few months. I didn’t mind walking across the driveway to slip my neatly tied trash bag in the can. I made sure to break down any boxes to save space. I was careful to pick up anything that might blow out, and I wiped up anything that may have caused a mess. The two of us rarely filled the can to capacity. She would take the can to the curb on Friday morning before work, and one of us, whoever got home from work first, would pull it back to its resting spot by her place in the late afternoon. The arrangement seemed to be working beautifully.
However, as time went on, I noticed our trash arrangement started showing signs of a meltdown. Occasionally I’d go over to make a deposit and find the can full to the brim and overflowing. Once or twice, I went over and found the can covered in some sort of sticky brown gunk where someone had thrown a drink at the can and apparently had seriously missed the mark, leaving sticky goo all over the lid. Occasionally I would go out to throw something away and find trash on top of the closed lid, leaving the mess for me to clean up if I wanted to put my trash inside. I figured it must be one of the kids, as I was assuming grown-ups understood the trashcan lid needed to be open if the trash was expected to land inside. (I do, however, realize there are other types of lids that grown-ups don’t manage well, like in the bathroom. But we won’t go there.) As time went on, the area around the trashcan grew more and more disgusting. It really should not have been my concern. After all, the mess was on her side of the driveway, and it didn’t affect me in the slightest. But subconsciously I suppose I was picking up on the subtle changes.
Late one afternoon, a few weeks later, there was a knock at my door. There stood a very stern looking policeman who seemed quite unhappy with me. He stood at my front door with some paperwork in his hands inquiring why I was dumping my trash in the desert. He made it abundantly clear he was ready to hand me a great big ol’ ticket along with some community service hours. Honestly, I had no idea what was going on. I told him I had never thrown anything in the desert, and I would never think of throwing my household trash anywhere except where it belonged. I was still a bit shocked and asked him how he knew it was mine. He then produced a few pieces of my personal mail that clearly had my name and address on them. My first thought was perhaps it had blown from the dump. I’m sure by the look on my face he could tell I was confused. He explained the papers he was showing me had not been blowing around the desert, but had actually been removed by him personally from a clean, neatly tied, white trash bag. He told me, with a hint of sarcasm, he didn’t even have to get his hands dirty. Then it hit me. Something in my inventive trash arrangement had gone awry. I explained to him the trash arrangement I had with my neighbor and that something, unknown to me, must have happened. The officer explained to me he would go speak to my neighbor, but if he didn’t get an acceptable explanation I would be paying the fine and picking up trash in the desert for my crime. He also assured me the trash I would be picking up would not be neatly placed in clean white trash bags tied so tightly a fly would struggle squeeze inside.
I closed my door and went over to the peek through my front window as the officer walked across the driveway to speak to my neighbor. Wishing I could read their lips, they spoke for a bit. She then disappeared and brought back her boyfriend as the discussion continued. I will admit to you I was still bit naive as to what had happened. I really couldn’t figure out how our trash ended up in the desert and not at the dump where it belonged. The conversation between the officer and my neighbors ended with much head nodding and little eye contact. The policemen returned to their cruiser and drove away, leaving me with more questions than answers.
The next morning my curiosity got the best of me. I walked across the driveway and knocked on my neighbor’s door. Before any explanations were given, she offered me an apology. The first words out of her mouth were, “I am so sorry.” She then went on to tell me what had happened on her side of the driveway the prior evening. Apparently when the police arrived at her door, after speaking with me, they told her if she didn’t tell them exactly what had happened, they were going to fine me and require me to do community service. She had no idea how my trash had ended up in the desert, but she did know the previous week she and her boyfriend had a trash issue. She had asked him to take the can to the curb, but he had forgotten. It was full and overflowing and she deservedly was upset with him for his forgetfulness. He told her he would take the trash to the dump himself to take care of it. He came home with an empty can and she assumed that was the end of it.
However, there was a part of the story she had not been told. Apparently by the time he had gotten to the dump it was closed. Not wanting to go home with a full trash can and be in trouble again, he took a back road home and dumped the trash in the desert. When our not so friendly police officers showed up at their door, he told her what he had done but also told her to tell the police she had no idea of how the trash got there and to let me take the fall. She admitted to considering it for a split moment, but she chose to do the right thing and tell the police exactly what had happened.
The next Sunday I told my trash tale to my pastor. I was all wound up and furious that someone would put me in that situation. I felt my kindness and eagerness to help was unappreciated and disrespected. He patiently listened to my story, but his response was not what I expected. Although not what I wanted to hear, he was right on the mark.
He told me it was a wonderful thing that I reached out to help my neighbor. But nowhere does God tell us not to use our common sense. In this situation, I had lost my perspective and was careless in my thinking.
I wasn’t picking up what he was putting down, so he explained a little deeper.
When helping my neighbor I should have offered her to use my can and let her cancel her bill, not the other way around. By doing this I would not have been handing over my responsibility to someone else, trusting them to take care of details that could adversely affect me. This way I would be the one to manage the bill and the mess, but I could have avoided any awkward situation that might arise in the arrangement later, which of course is exactly what happened.
He was absolutely right.
We need to be smart about how we do things. We need to consider if there might be consequences for our actions. There may be more than one way to get the job done. Having learned what I learned, would I help my neighbor again? Absolutely. But I would be much smarter about it.
Wishing you joy and peace,
Lorrie
Mark 12: 30-31: Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this, Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these.