Dear Garbageman

Dear Garbageman,
I understand why you might be in a bad mood.
I mean, shitty hours, shitty smells… in short, most of what your job entails is, well, pretty shitty.
Still, I’m not quite sure you’re as entitled as you think.
See, when I was walking the dog and I heard the scrap of the metal dumpsters as you pulled them out of the alley, I stopped to let you pass.
My dog, considerably less aware, was startled when you emerged.
Then you asked us a question.
“What, he sees a garbage truck and doesn’t put two and two together?”
Now, I’m not sure if you were talking to me or about me, since you used the word “he.”
If, in fact, you were talking about my dog, I’m sorry to tell you the answer is no.
Dogs don’t quite have the mental faculties to put those sorts of things together.
If they did, do you really think they’d eat their own poop?
So next time, why don’t you save your smart ass question for someone else (although I hesitate to call your ridiculous question “smart ass” given how dumb it was), because I’m not really in the mood for it.


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