Earlier today I discovered that, for the second week in a row, my yard waste container was not emptied. Immediately, my blood began to boil and my skin tingled with anticipation and sweat. My pulse raced as I picked up the phone to call 311, praying that she would answer. Lately, almost anything is an excuse for me to call and hear her sexy instructions for better citizenship. Within seconds, her sweet, stern voice informed me that she was aware of the situation.
Oh baby, tell me more. Tell me that all your public services are going to satisfy my needs. Tell me how important my call is to you. Make me feel special.
For almost three months, I have been in love with the woman on the 311 recording. I imagine her to be short with wavy raven hair, fiery eyes and bold Iberian temperament. In my dreams, we wane away the late nights eating tapas and sipping porto, listening to the sad classical guitar of an elderly gentleman.
I squirmed anxiously in my seat as she confirmed that trash, recycling and/or yard waste receptacles were not picked up along many routes. She recommended that I leave my container on the street and it would be serviced…eventually.
Yes, give it to me.
Fox40 reports that the reason for the missed pick-ups is the lack of truck drivers. One-quarter of the city’s drivers are out sick, on vacation, or otherwise unable to work, which is sure to infuriate those already complaining about inefficiency in our city services.
But not me. The busier the 311 operators are, the more time I spent with my sweet senorita who is always waiting there for me and appreciates my patience.