I have a relatively small metal trashcan in my kitchen that needs to be emptied more often than I'd like. This is probably a good thing though, because my apartment has a habit of becoming intensely smelly in a very short amount of time. Usually I wait until it is positively overflowing with nasty, juicy trash before I take it to the dumpster. This is because I absolutely hate the back stairwell that leads to the alley behind my apartmen.
I am on the second floor at the very end of the hallway, which is right next to the building's back stairwell. Since this is the "back stairwell", no one ever made the effort to make it presentable. The stairs are made of wood which has severely deteriorated over time, and the walls are concrete cinder blocks. As you walk down these stairs, you have to be very sure not to let your head graze the bottoms of the stairs above you, seeing as they are almost always dripping some kind of goo. When you finally get to the ground level, there is this creepy area right by the door that always reeks of urine and has a giant rust-colored stain on the floor which I try not to think is most likely blood. Asides from the creep factor of these stairs, the door leading to the dumpster out back is extremely inconvenient. You almost always have to take your trash out on your way out of the building, because the door locks behind you and there is no way to get back into the building but to walk around the block and come back in the front doors. I should probably be thankful for this since it is clearly a safety measure, but it is indescribably annoying when you get locked out of your building with trash juice on your hands and you're in your pajamas. (Luckily, I have had my keys with me every time this has happened, so that I can get back in the front doors. Also, my keys don't open the back door. Another safety measure, I presume.)
But Alex, why don't you just prop the door open?
Don't think I haven't thought of that good people of the internet. But remember how I said that I usually wait until my trash is overflowing before I take it out? This is almost always a two-arm job, leaving me totally incapable of propping the door open. Also, on the rare occasion that I have an extra hand for propping, I can't find anything that I would willingly touch with my bare hand that would be heavy enough to keep the door open.
This brings me to my disturbing trash adventure story. Usually I don't encounter anyone on my way down the trash stairs, but every once in a while, there will be maintenance workers or bus driver hanging around the back alley, just chilling or talking on their walkie-talkies. There was one time though, that I happened across a particularly despondent old man squatting in the bottom of the stairwell. I was coming down the stairs and was already at the door before I knew anyone was there. It wasn't until I turned around to push the door open with my back that I caught him staring at me from a pile of blankets in the corner. I tried to disguise my surprise with an awkward "hello" before running out the door. I figured he was most likely harmless, but I still wasn't going to go through that door again that day. As I was circling the block to come back to the front of my building, I realized that I recognized the stairwell man. He was whom I had previously referred to as "Mattress Man" in my head.
The first time I had ever taken a walk down my block after moving in, I had learned that going towards campus is fine, but going towards the city = ghetto. (By my sheltered, suburban-grown white girl standards at least.) There is an empty lot on the end of my corner that is almost completely populated by weeds. I say almost because as I was taking my first observational walk around my new neighborhood, I found this old man laying in the lot on a pile of old mattresses. This appeared to be his home and I've seen him there from time to time.
As I realized that "Stair Man" and "Mattress Man" were the same, I became almost thankful that he had been resourceful enough to find a better living space for the coming winter, and that I should ask him how he managed to get in so that I wouldn't have to walk around the universe every time I locked myself out.
Then I realized that I should be terrified that some old hobo is squatting in the stairwell of my apartment building. It makes me nervous to think that I am responsible for my own life. And that is yet another reason I am not a survivor.
P.S., I have only seen Stair/Mattress Man in my building twice, so I would venture to say he has found more suitable--and legal--living quarters since our last encounter.
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