The play can be set in any
small Eastern Ontario town—like Napanee, for example—early in the morning of
Friday, April 12, 2013. There has
been freezing rain all night long,
and now, just after dawn,
there is a glistening shell of ice
over everything. Shrubs and bushes glitter like
diamonds. Tree limbs ache with the
unaccustomed weight of the ice.
Drivers nudge their cars carefully along the streets, fearful of skids
and spins.
The odd thing is that,
despite the elaborate caution with which the fall of ice has visited the world,
the garbage collectors—who normally grasp at any excuse not to pick up the
trash—are today out in force, breezy and efficient.
There are two characters in
the play: a garbage collector and an icebound homeowner.
Homeowner (greatly surprised at the sudden appearance, in this
monotonal iceworld, of a great creamy beige garbage truck looming up before the
house): You!!
Garbage Collector (amused):
You were expecting maybe Admiral Peary? Or Samuel Hearne? Henry Hudson?
H: I really
wasn’t expecting anyone at all!
GC: Why
not? It takes more than a few
pellets of ice to discourage the Sanitation Department!
H: But
that’s simply not true. I’ve known
you refuse to come out during a warm rain or a gust or two of wind!
GC: Sir, you slander us. Nothing keeps us from our appointed
rounds!
H: Well, it’s
too cold to stand here and argue the point.
GC: Yes, please don’t. It’s wounding.
We love ice. Ice is jut
frozen water. Two gasses suddenly,
miraculously, grown hard as glass.
Party ice! Ice is nature’s
costume jewelry. Ice is
petrified drama: ice unknitteth the finished sleeve of care!
H: What was that last statement?
GC: Shakespeare.
Hamlet.
H: Oh it was not!
GC: Yes it was.
We sanitation engineers know the classics!
H: It’s
cold and I’m going back in now [there is a long pause]. Well, aren’t you going to load my
garbage bags onto your truck?
GC: Not
just like that, not right in front of you. It’s a bit awkward.
You see, we’re very delicate about this sort of thing. We don’t like to be observed. You should go back in the house, and
THEN we’ll load up your garbage.
H: I don’t understand.
GC: Neither
do we, entirely. It’s a certain
abashment within us. A
diffidence. It’s just our
way. Surely you can honour that?
H: I
suppose.
GC: Thank
you, shivering homeowner, for your understanding.
H: You’re welcome.
GC: We know it.
We know we are. We are as
welcome as birds in the Spring.
Well, goodbye now. And thank you for your thoughtful contribution to the
town’s garbage stocks.
H (turning to go back inside): It was nothing.
GC: Oh, please don’t ever say that!
(curtain)
