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On a freezing winter morning, Aaron stepped outside to complete the simplest of tasks—bringing in his trash cans. But what started as a mundane chore quickly spiraled into an existential crisis, leading him to question generosity, obligation, and just how many trash cans one man can really take in.
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Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Birce
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Music: thomas j. duke
TRANSCRIPT
Aaron Calafato:
I had to go outside and bring the trash cans in.
It was one of those days recently where it was two degrees. The Arctic outside. I didn’t know if I could do this.
The trash cans looked like they were six miles away. The thought of layering up and going out there felt impossible. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever return. But after a couple sips of coffee—the same kind I’m drinking right now—I told myself, get your act together. Get your ass out there. Do what you’re supposed to do. Bring in those trash cans.
So I layered up, felt motivated, and with that liquid courage, I hit the button—the garage door slowly opened, and I walked out into the tundra. I had to shuffle my feet carefully because I forgot to put salt down. Didn’t want to slip and hurt myself. I’m 41—I have to be careful out there.
I reached the trash cans, walked them back into the garage, and I felt accomplished—like I had just climbed a mountain. I took a moment to admire my victory, staring out at what I had just done.
And as I stood there, the wind blowing, the snow starting to fall, I looked over at my neighbor’s house across the street. We love these neighbors. An older couple, but wonderful people—so kind to us. And I had this warm feeling, this realization of man, we are so lucky to have them as neighbors.
And then, I saw it.
Their trash cans—empty, just sitting there.
I had a moment where I thought, I’m going to take their trash cans in.
Now, here’s the thing—this was surprising for me. I can’t confirm this because it would be weird to ask, but if you polled my immediate circle, I think they’d say, yeah, he’s pretty giving, he sacrifices for us. But if you asked people outside that circle—maybe even my neighbors—they might say, I don’t know much about the guy. I see him walking around in the morning like a zombie. I hear he tells stories late at night. And honestly, I’m fine with that.
But today, I thought—extend a little bit outside of the circle. Help a neighbor.
So, carefully, I shuffled across the street—it was pure ice. The wind was howling. I got to their driveway, grabbed their trash cans—they have the industrial ones, smart move—and walked them right up to their house.
And then—I stopped.
Because I looked next door. And I saw their trash cans sitting out.
And here’s the thing: in the age of Ring cameras—everyone has one, including me—I started wondering, What if these neighbors see me doing this and wonder… why didn’t he take our trash cans?
I really had this thought.
They could be watching right now, thinking, Why is this guy selectively bringing in trash cans?
So now, out of fear of judgment, I had to make another decision. And listen—maybe I’m a little paranoid—but at this point, I was already right next door. Might as well take their trash cans in too.
So I did.
Now I was feeling extra special. Look at me. Trash Can Hero.
But then—I turned back toward my house and looked across the street.
The other neighbors.
Their trash cans were out too.
Now, these neighbors—they’re wonderful. The best kind of neighbors. They don’t interfere in your life, but they’re there when you need them. Hardworking people. Always on the go. Up early, working in the yard, heading to work.
And I thought to myself, You’re already out here. Just take their trash cans in too.
But then I hesitated.
What if they see me and feel insulted?
Like, Oh, we’re not the older couple across the street—he doesn’t think we can bring in our own trash cans?
I also started worrying… Will there now be an expectation that I take in everyone’s trash cans?
And just as I was really overthinking this, I looked down the street.
And it hit me—every single house still had their trash cans out.
I could be out here all day.
I had to make a decision.
I turned around, walked back home, and went inside.
As I brewed my second cup of coffee, I had two realizations:
One: Aaron, you are a little neurotic. Just accept it.
Two: It’s a good thing to take care of others when you can. To be there for your neighbor when you can.
But I also realized—I’m limited.
There’s only so many trash cans I can take in. And that sucks. Because I wish good things for everyone. But I only have my little corner—our little part of the circle.
And that’s hard. Because that requires accepting that I can’t control all the other stuff—good or bad.
But the trash cans in my corner of the world?
I can do that.
But for any of my neighbors listening—just a heads up: don’t set an expectation.
Because I don’t want to overpromise and underdeliver.
Just know—I’m trying.
