“G.I.G.O.” “IS THAT YOUR GARBAGE?”

Every week for about six months when the garbage collector’s would come in my neighborhood to pick up the garbage, he would stop the truck right in front of my house, and you know how they reve the engine to compact and push down the garbage they have collected and to make room for the new garbage that they need to put in before they have to go back to the dump and make one big drop? Well, that is what he would do.   So as they reve the engine to do the compacting, a liquid substance that I fondly like to refer to as “GARBAGE JUICE” would come running out of the bottom of the bottom of the truck, and consequently onto the ground, and right in front of my house.  And in the summer time it becomes absolutely unbearable.  So here I went, out to the front of the house with a cup of washing powder, the gallon of bleach, my outdoor broom, and the water hose.  And I commenced to scrubbing the street in front of my house to help regain some sense of the aromatic bouquet of the roses growing in abundance in my front yard.  Every week I had to go through the same thing, repeat this same process.  Garbage man came, and I went out or sent my son out to scrub up the “GARBAGE JUICE.”  Well, one day I ‘d had just about enough.  So, this particular morning, there I stood on the front porch and waited until I heard the garbage truck coming.  When I saw him coming down the street, I marched myself right out there and said, “Hey, excuse me!  But every week you come down the street and stop right in front of my house and you reve that truck, and squeeze “GARBAGE JUICE” right in front on  my house, and it smells absolutely horrible.  And I do not appreciate it.  Can you please NOT do that again?”  They compliantly and apologetically agreed that they would not squeeze “GARBAGE JUICE” in front of my house again and rolled on up the street.  Wow!  I was ecstatic.  I had gotten something accomplished.  I had really gotten through to him.  The next week came and once again, I stood on the porch when I heard him coming down the block, and up the street.  True to his word, when he got to my house he did not squeeze the “GARBAGE JUICE” in front of my house, just as he had promised.  He even nodded his head to me as he passed my house.  I was very happy, and smiling I turned to go back into the house.  That is, until I heard the truck stop at my next door neighbors house that lives on the right of me, and I heard the truck engine reve, and I saw the “GARBAGE JUICE” come running out of the bottom of the truck, right in front of HER house.  And I watched in horror, as it began to roll back down the hill, right-in front-of-my-house.  Oh, did tell you, I live on a slopping hill?  Hmmm.  So, there I went, back down the driveway, with my washing powder, my bleach, my outdoor broom, and the water hose, because I got my neighbors “GARBAGE JUICE.”

G.I.G.O. is an acronym used in computer language that means, Garbage In, Garbage Out.  In other words, the computer can only give out what you put into it.  If you put in garbage, you are going to get garbage back from it.  How many times have YOU accepted or received something, “GARBAGE JUICE” that was not actually your own.  How many times have we allowed people to put or transfer their garbage into you.  We tend to allow people to conveniently dump their woes, their problems, their situations and their circumstances on and their baggage on us, and many times, we just accept it as our own.  We can’t even draw the line of distinction anymore, because we can’t remember that it’s not our garbage.  We become a human garbage can.  It may not even be a whole bag of garbage.  It may just be a little trickle of stuff, “GARBAGE JUICE,” that you allow to run down your way, in front of your houses, into your bodies that God calls your temples.  And if you ignore it, if you cover it up with something like,e maybe the smell of a rose-bush, then maybe, just maybe you can forget that it’s there, and the smell will eventually go away.  It won’t.  For as the sun (The Son) continues to allow the heat to bear down on it, (whatever the situation) the smell just gets worse, and worse.  It’s time to get out the bleach, the washing powder, the outside broom, and the water hose, and wash their “GARBAGE JUICE”  off of you.

Now, tell us what you think,

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One thought on ““G.I.G.O.” “IS THAT YOUR GARBAGE?”

  1. Pingback: GIGO | doug --- off the record

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