The reason I wait until morning to chuck the rubbish out is that my neighbourhood garbage disposal association (also known as 110-year-old women whose only purpose in life, besides refusing to obey the laws of one's own lifespan, is continued oversight of said association) has decreed that rubbish can only be disposed of in the communal trash-truck pickup area between 7 and 7:30 am because 'animals will get at it' otherwise. I highly doubt this, however. If ladies old enough to remember when Mt. Fuji was just a hill are able to catch me with a plastic bottle cap in my burnable garbage at 20 meters, then something tells me cats and birds aren't gonna have much chance getting a cheap breakfast.
Trash collection in my neighbourhood, and many throughout Japan, is draconian. It probably took me about a full month to figure out what day to throw out what garbage and then once I'd wrapped my head around that, it took me at least that long to actually work out what constitutes "plastic" or "burnable garbage"among other types--a mighty, quest-like task. To some it may appear intuitive at first glance, but according to a lady who might have been in high school during the Meiji Restoration and who thoughtfully brought my trash back to my house from down the street when my infraction proved too great to bear, plastic that says 'plastic' on it may not necessarily go in the plastic pile, subject to, of course, a complex set of variables.
In addition to these women who were probably already grandmothers during the invasion of Machuria, another important trash disposal regulator is a huge poster 'explaining' how the whole system works, down to what type of battery goes out on what day and in what container. All I know is, there's a small pile of items sitting in my apartment that, after poring over this poster, I am still unable to classify, and will thus probably remain there long after I've left. Even the stuff I'm pretty sure about, I throw in a plastic bag (it's gotta be the right colour bag, though) and then sneak around the corner, check to see if anyone's there, and if there isn't, I can breathe a small sigh of relief because if there is someone there, you can safely bet your youngest daughter that they'll be going through my trash to verify its contents the second I go back around that corner.
So anywaaaaaaay....today I avoided the ordeal and woke up with a smile on my face, showered, wolfed my cereal, and stepped out into the beautiful sunshine. It was a bit chilly, but nothing beats sunshine in a place where it's just so depressingly rare to have a day without rain. I arrived at work five minutes early (a.k.a. 15 minutes late, because this is Japan, where you come to the office early and leave never) and it was like there was a fire drill or something. Everyone was frantically moving furniture out of the office into the hallway and around the stairs. That's odd, I thought to myself. No matter, I'll just join in, and I did just that. After about 10 minutes of dragging chairs and file cabinets out into the corridor, I asked a co-worker why we were doing it and she told me that the office was going to be professionally cleaned and the floor waxed. It would take about two hours, she explained, so I could pretty much do what I wanted. Sweet, I thought. I figured I might try and meet up with Daniel at Jiri cafe and catch up a bit, but he was stuck at work, so instead I went home and did some errands, went and saw my landlord and picked up dry-cleaning. Then I returned home with about an hour to spare and switched on the ps2. It was about 10:30 am when it struck me that this was the first and probably last time I would play Grand Theft Auto 3 in a suit and tie during working hours. Ah, Monday.
After work I went and dropped off Shima's giant electric pan that we used for okonomiyaki during the weekend. As I was leaving her place with an extra spatula in hand, I almost bumped into a guy walking home from work. He struck me as familiar, so I took a second glance and saw the same inquisitive look on his face as he tried to place me. It was the mayor! I'd met him once at a cultural event. So I stammered "Mr. Mayor!"--no hello, or how are you, just a shocked "shit, it's the mayor!"--to which he responded with an equally shaky "konnichiwa...?...". Then there was the whole awkward do-i-stop-and-talk-to-him-uhoh-it's-too-late-he's-already-too-far-gone-ok-quick-break-eye-contact moment and I went home.
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