I am a Driskell, which means throwing garbage into its designated receptacle is always done from where you are at the time the item becomes disposable. One does not approach said receptacle. Oh no! If you are a football field away from the nearest trash bin, you muster all your strength, take careful aim (accounting for elements like wind speed, terrain angle, the necessary trajectory for distance, weight and aerodynamic qualities of the item in question, and any possible opportunities for a bank shot), and then you THROW that sucker, baby!
If you cannot see a receptacle, you walk only far enough for a bin to come into view; then you immediately stop, aim, and toss from that spot. If you miss, your penalty is having to walk the football field and suffer the humiliation of bending over to pick up the item, and then actually dropping it in the trash can while onlookers jeer or shake their heads in disappointment. Tsk! Tsk! But, if you make the basket – welllll, you have bragging rights for at least 15 minutes, AND you’ve saved yourself the trouble of getting out of your recliner!
This legacy dates back to Mattie Driskell, my paternal grandmother who probably would have been a first round draft pick for the Chicago Bulls if she hadn’t been pregnant most of her adult life. Watching this never-ending competition between my dad, my brother, and me pretty much made my mother tear her hair out.
The center of my office trash can is usually behind the music stand pictured below. Yes, I could move the music stand, the waste bin, or even myself (my chair is on wheels, after all). However, I much prefer the satisfaction of knowing I can still throw a curve or instantaneously make the geometric calculations necessary to successfully ricochet garbage off the bookshelf.
I’m 17 for 17 on all discarded items today (Yes, I keep score, doesn’t everyone?). I sure hope my brother, Gary has been watching from the afterlife. He would be so proud.