THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, September 15, 1994 TAG: 9409140063
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY FRED KIRSCH, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 71 lines
``THERE'S SOMETHING strange on our lawn,'' he screamed as he looked out the upstairs window a couple of weeks ago.
``Dear, will you relax,'' she said as he came bolting down the stairs. ``It's our new garbage can from the city.''
It looked more like a Martian spaceship. It was huge. And green. And had wheels. He had once seen something like this in a movie. And there were Martians in it.
``Everyone stay in the house,'' he said. ``I'll handle this.''
He approached cautiously. It had a number on the side - 94-017175 - and white lettering that said ``City of Norfolk.'' The lid had ``Otto Industries'' stamped on the top.
With some effort, he pried the lid open and shouted, ``Hello, Otto.''
``Hello, Otto,'' his voice traveled back from the depths.
``It's a garbage can, all right,'' he said, returning to the house. ``Was there something wrong with our old cans? What's going on?''
``It's the city's new system,'' she said.
The old system seemed to work fine. Every Tuesday and Friday morning, she'd slap him on the head while he was sleeping and hiss: ``The garbage truck is up the street. Did you put the cans out?''
He'd leap from bed, peer out the door to see that no one was within sight and race out, usually in his underwear, to drag the two brown rubber cans out to the curb.
But now the 90-gallon Otto would be rolled out to the curb only once a week - Thursdays - and then he would be grabbed by mechanical arms from the truck, raised high in the air and unloaded. Human hands would never touch Otto's contents.
``It's state of the art, dear,'' she said, glancing out the window at Otto.
And so, the Kirsches began the systematic feeding of Otto in preparation for the first pickup day.
It wasn't easy.
``Guys,'' he had to remind the Kirschtones several times, ``nature abhors a vacuum. Your job is to fill Otto. You simply have to make more garbage.''
Every night he'd drag another neatly tied plastic bag out, pull open the lid and toss it into Otto's yawning mouth. After about five days, the question around the the house was: What has two wheels and flies?
Otto.
Finally, the night came to roll Otto out to the curb.
``Susan,'' he called to the youngest 'Tone. ``Come out here and help me. I can't move this damn thing.''
It was 6:30 the next morning when, deep in sleep, he thought he heard someone at the front door. It was Nat Jones, who was out for his morning walk.
``You've got your garbage can turned the wrong way,'' he heard Nat explaining to her through the screen door. ``They can't pick it up the way it is. And Fred better move his car, too. It's in the way.''
They still hadn't come for Otto when he left for work. When he pulled up in front of the house that night, there was Otto. On his side in the street.
The rubber wheels had come off him.
``I don't know what happened, but a guy gave me a card with a number,'' she said. ``We have to call them, and they'll bring out a new can.''
He grabbed Otto and dragged him back to the side of the house and laid him on the ground.
At the foot of the two brown rubber cans. ILLUSTRATION: Color illustration photo by Lisa Servia
[Otto the green garbage can]
by CNB