This happened!

Imagine, if you will, that you are me.  You are in your jammies at 10am, because your work day doesn't begin until 4pm.

(It is great to be me, did you know that?)

Suddenly, a pounding at the door!  You contemplate hiding, then you remember that you have no curtains.  It would take but one teeny peek in the window to reveal that you are watching Netflix on your couch in your jammies with your cat at 10am on a Monday morning.  This is embarrassing (so you definitely shouldn't blog about it), so you flee to the rear of the apartment!

Then you remember:  you are neither graceful nor lithe.  Whoever was just pounding on your door probably heard you prance down the hall with the agility of an anesthetized water buffalo, so maybe you should just answer the door?

And anyway, there might be an emergency!  The building might be on fire!  Flames may have alerted passing pedestrians, who have run to the door and are pounding so you can escape with your health and posessions!

Answer the door!!!!

(Note:  do not wear a bra.  Fire will not wait for your gigantic tatas!)

It's a Pittsburgh Public Works dude.  Your upstairs neighbors are apparently doing some house cleaning, and have deposited monumental amounts of garbage on the curb.  It's not garbage night.  That's frowned upon.

This transpired:

Disgruntled, Irate Community Worker And Drudge:  Is that your garbage?
ME:  No.  It belongs to the upstairs neighbors, and they are not here. (read:  they are here, I can hear their delightful pounding, but I'm not about to rat them out to you, pal)
DICWAD:  Okay, well, you can't do that.
ME:  Do what?
DICWAD:  Put your garbage on the curb when it's not garbage day.
ME:  Oh, okay.  Well, I didn't.  So, thanks.
DICWAD:  Where's your landlord?
ME:  Um, I don't know?  New York City?  That's where he lives.  I've never met him.
DICWAD:  Well, do you have his phone number?!
ME:  (lie)  Nope.
DICWAD:  I mean, this is ridiculous.  Your garbage pickup isn't until Wednesday, and it's only Monday.
ME:  No, no.  Our garbage pickup is Tuesday.
DICWAD:  Uh, NO.  Your garbage pickup is WEDNESDAY.
(He is not pleased with the fact that a braless, pajama clad bedhead is arguing with him.  Clearly, this is not in his job description.)
ME:  Is that new?  Has that just changed?
DICWAD:  (laughing) No, it has ALWAYS BEEN ON WEDNESDAY.
ME:  I have lived here for 6 years.  For 6 years, I have been putting my garbage out on Monday night, and it is gone on Tuesday morning.  Who has been picking it up!?
DICWAD:  Well, I don't know, but your garbage pickup day is Wednesday, lady.  I am the boss.  I think I know more about pickup days than you do.
ME:  (concentrating very, very hard on not punching this toolbag for just calling me "lady")  Yes, but you have to keep track of many, many garbage pickup times.  I only have to know one.  Mine.  Which is Tuesday.
DICWAD:  You are clearly very confused, honey.
ME:  Aaaaaaaaaand, we're done here.  (close door firmly, making sure boobs are safely inside)

WHAT I SHOULD HAVE SAID:
Can I have your name and phone number so I can call you on Wednesday morning to pick up the garbage that is still sitting on my curb because my garbage pickup is Tuesday?

But I didn't, because I was too busy thinking, "Who argues with a garbage man at 10am on a gorgeous, sunny Monday morning?  People who don't work in offices."  So, maybe there are perks to being Not Me, too.