Hot Garbage
art by Dani Manning
LIFT The straw that broke Mike’s camel’s back was when that twink from Grindr turned him down. Days of sexting crumbled to nothing once the twenty-two-year-old saw him dragging a pair of cans down his neighbor’s driveway. Suddenly the “big daddy bear” that had gotten the twink’s asshole “wet” (if such a thing were anatomically possible) was “just a garbage man.”
REST “That’s not like a hot job lol” were the twink’s exact words. “And it’s not very gay.” For the record, Mike was gay, and he was sick of the mockery. This wasn’t the first time he’d lost a chance at romance because of his job. So what if he only had an associate’s degree? So what if he wasn’t part of “the knowledge economy?”
LIFT Then Mike saw the twink on a date with a firefighter. The fucking firefighters. They got calendars, swooning fans, the small-town power of a cop without any of the social accountability. Mike and his buddies tried to make their own calendar, but they just ended up returned as a crumpled mess in a garbage can.
REST So, Mike started working out. Creatine, protein, HIIT, mobility training. He didn’t show anyone his progress for months until he was sure he wasn’t being delusional and knew his bod looked killer. Equipped with an expensive haircut, full body wax, a new slim-fit jumpsuit, Mike rejoiced when his coworkers started to question his sexuality since no one had believed he was gay before. He painted the truck a sleek matte black and polished the rims nightly to make sure it looked as good as he did. With his souped-up bod and ride, Mike was sex on municipal wheels.
LIFT Every day, he toured the town, riding his dump truck like it was his trusty steed galloping into the dawn-stricken horizon. He was the treasure that led the trash into that sweet good morrow. Suddenly, everyone was saying hi, chipper and cheery at 6:30am. Husbands were asking Mike for workout tips while wives were slipping him phone numbers. People wanted their waste managed and Mike was happy to oblige. They were putting out multiple cans a day, asking him to come back for second pickups. They were buying things just so they could throw them out. Large, bulky items that would make him flex his hulking lats and beefy biceps. Big garbage was bigger than ever. And that twink? His asshole wasn’t just wet, it was soaked.
REST “THIS JUST IN” the TV above Mike and the dumbbell rack roared. A pretty newscaster— was he prettier than Mike? He checked himself out in the mirror to make sure he could beat the newscaster in a beauty contest— “The town’s dump is at record heights.” Interviews of locals played, saying “It’s like they never invented recycling!” “I haven’t seen anything like this since the eighties!” Pollution was one thing, burning fossil fuels, no one could quit those until big business and government finally let us have our renewables. But actual garbage? Throwing things away? That was trashy.
Mike’s guilt-ridden eyes met themselves in the mirror. The choice was clear: let go of his vanity or risk contributing to the biggest pile of garbage in recent American history. But the people needed him and the joy he now brought to the world. Mike left the gym, protein shake and duffel bag in hand, and drove right over to the firehouse to submit his resume. Problem solved!
REST “That’s not like a hot job lol” were the twink’s exact words. “And it’s not very gay.” For the record, Mike was gay, and he was sick of the mockery. This wasn’t the first time he’d lost a chance at romance because of his job. So what if he only had an associate’s degree? So what if he wasn’t part of “the knowledge economy?”
LIFT Then Mike saw the twink on a date with a firefighter. The fucking firefighters. They got calendars, swooning fans, the small-town power of a cop without any of the social accountability. Mike and his buddies tried to make their own calendar, but they just ended up returned as a crumpled mess in a garbage can.
REST So, Mike started working out. Creatine, protein, HIIT, mobility training. He didn’t show anyone his progress for months until he was sure he wasn’t being delusional and knew his bod looked killer. Equipped with an expensive haircut, full body wax, a new slim-fit jumpsuit, Mike rejoiced when his coworkers started to question his sexuality since no one had believed he was gay before. He painted the truck a sleek matte black and polished the rims nightly to make sure it looked as good as he did. With his souped-up bod and ride, Mike was sex on municipal wheels.
LIFT Every day, he toured the town, riding his dump truck like it was his trusty steed galloping into the dawn-stricken horizon. He was the treasure that led the trash into that sweet good morrow. Suddenly, everyone was saying hi, chipper and cheery at 6:30am. Husbands were asking Mike for workout tips while wives were slipping him phone numbers. People wanted their waste managed and Mike was happy to oblige. They were putting out multiple cans a day, asking him to come back for second pickups. They were buying things just so they could throw them out. Large, bulky items that would make him flex his hulking lats and beefy biceps. Big garbage was bigger than ever. And that twink? His asshole wasn’t just wet, it was soaked.
REST “THIS JUST IN” the TV above Mike and the dumbbell rack roared. A pretty newscaster— was he prettier than Mike? He checked himself out in the mirror to make sure he could beat the newscaster in a beauty contest— “The town’s dump is at record heights.” Interviews of locals played, saying “It’s like they never invented recycling!” “I haven’t seen anything like this since the eighties!” Pollution was one thing, burning fossil fuels, no one could quit those until big business and government finally let us have our renewables. But actual garbage? Throwing things away? That was trashy.
Mike’s guilt-ridden eyes met themselves in the mirror. The choice was clear: let go of his vanity or risk contributing to the biggest pile of garbage in recent American history. But the people needed him and the joy he now brought to the world. Mike left the gym, protein shake and duffel bag in hand, and drove right over to the firehouse to submit his resume. Problem solved!