Darling, let me take you to the Casbah

So I'm trudging down-slope in my parking garage this morning, surveying my shoes and debating "elevator day or face-plant-in-the-stairwell day?" when I glance across the street at my office building and see romance blossoming before my eyes. I didn't see compromised conventioneers or junior executives locked in some icky, forbidden embrace. I saw a trash can and a recycling bin, side-by-side, pressed against a fourth floor window in an otherwise empty conference room.

It looked as if they were enjoying the last of the sunrise (which happened, oh, hours ago but trash bins don't have legs so I find it entirely believable that they would still be sitting there) before the day fell on a cold, unfeeling world. A world that does not understand their love.

"But we can never be together," whispered one to the other.

"Shhhhhhhhh...don't think about that now," chided her mate.


As the elevator banged opened--I am unconvinced that walking down the stairs is real exercise--it was hard to tell where the blue self-righteous rubber of the recycler stopped and the permissive, sticky confines of the trash bin began. So close, these two from different worlds, I sighed as I promptly got my heel stuck in the wee holes of the rubber mat they use to trap low-level professionals.

When I exited on the ground floor, I looked up to check on the refused refuse romantics and saw that the trash bin was gone. I hope he went out in a big way. Maybe he threw himself down an elevator shaft or faked his own death with the help of a friendly monk...but I doubt it. I guess some unfeeling office worker decided to pass judgment and separate the two lovebins. I guess it just wasn't meant to be. The world can be so cruel.

(Okay, seriously: I once had an employer tell me that, because I was so prone to weirdo mental images like those above, I should get a PhD. Someone should forward this blog so he understands that he should never, ever have validated me. Happy Tuesday.)