I didn't catch his name or get the exact details of his military service. I think I heard "special forces," but the rumbling of the truck got in the way. I was surprised to see him lifting our garbage pail by hand. He pointed at his muscles. "It keeps an old man young," he said. Speaking as our san man ever since we moved here about a year and a half ago, he advised us to get a smaller pail to save some money (And, muscles notwithstanding, perhaps to make for easier lifting? It’s a little silly to hoist up a 30 gallon pail just to dispense a couple small bags of cat litter.) "You never have any garbage", he said. Brian didn't want to go that route because the incentive didn't make it worth it, especially since there may be occasions when we'll need the space. "Don't worry about it. I take care of my good customers," my san man told me. He said if we need to put an extra bag out every now and then he wouldn't charge us. He'd let us know if we needed to upsize. I’m reading “Garbage Land” by Elizabeth Royte. It’s a great book and what mainly encouraged me to peek around the corner of the garage to meet the guy who puts my trash out of sight and out of mind every week. Before Royte, there was my Dad who meets the san man every week at the curb to toss his own bags into the truck. He never had the idea that fairies were whisking this stuff away and he made a point of making sure that we never came to that conclusion either.