Trash Night

I need to tell you of something magnificent. Better than any circus you've seen or escargot you've eaten. It's an occasional even that happens nationally in Switzerland, in every canton. It's called Trash Night.

I picked up two functional pans that night, which were surprisingly clean for trash. You should've seen it. There I was walking down the hill and to my dorm with a pan in each hand, cars flying by, smile on my face. I let them soak for two nights in the sink with some soap and voila! good as new.

Later that night, Su (one of my roommates) and I went to the Irish Pub but decided it was too smokey and left. On our way back down, we took a detour, and who'd have known? We found a wood shelf and an ironing board. We fumbled around for awhile trying to figure out how to carry it down the hill; a group of Italian men even asked us if we needed help; we declined. I held the ironing board from the back and it was so funny to see the faces of people driving by. Now these were locals that passed us, but I would've been questioning my vision if I saw two girls obviously dressed up and probably American partaking in this very-Swiss event.

How did this make me feel? Well, akward, yes. But also a tad mischievous. I come from a country that tells you that only thieves and robbers go through trash to steal credit card information.