Things That Worry Me Which Probably Shouldn't

I'm concerned the garbage man may have it in for me. As far as I know I've done nothing to him to merit his wrath, yet I still feel persecuted.
   Back in the day, when there were three channels on TV plus PBS, there were three men on the garbage truck. One drove, presumably the senior member of the crew, and two clung to the sides of the truck like remoras.* The truck would rumble down the alley, the two guys would leap off and grab what you'd left out, toss it into the gaping maw, leap back on and go to the next pile of bags. They were usually convivial, even joking, and kept one another company as they did what had to be a miserable job.
   Now, though, there's just one garbageman. One loner in his truck, operating a remote-controlled claw. No exercise, no fresh air, no companionship. The lone garbageman is like the lone gunman, except his tower is a five-ton truck and his sniper rifle is the claw.
   We used to leave gifts for the garbagemen at Christmas. Really, just like we did for the paper boy, the postman, and the ritzy homes did for their milk men. Little notes with a couple of bucks inside and a 'thanks for doing a great job!' message. But now, with the garbageman hermetically sealed in his cabin, silently seething, teeth gritted in all-consuming resentment, I don't know how I'd get a gift to him. Maybe carrier pigeon?
   This is why I think he's pissed off - aside from the way he leaves the huge can smack in the middle of my driveway - he knows he's never going to get a Christmas gift.
   I tried to wave to him today, but he refused to acknowledge me. I think one day he's going to drive his truck through my front door, grab me with the big yellow claw, and toss me into the bin.
   Sure, call me crazy, but one day, when there's a garbage-truck sized hole in the front of my house, you'll all feel pretty guilty.


* that kind of simile is probably what pisses off garbagemen...