The Garbage Truck
– Just an Ordinary Tuesday and Friday
1. The Scene of Morning Garbage Collection
It’s said that the world produces over 55 million tons of waste every single day.
Japan alone accounts for 110,000 tons of it.
Naturally, all that garbage has to be collected and processed by someone.
If it weren’t, our cities would be buried in trash in no time.
And yet, very few people actually pay attention to the act of garbage collection.
Waste is the outcome of our actions—not the goal.
And it’s not the kind of outcome we like to acknowledge. If anything, we’d rather look away.
Still, it’s there. It exists.
Whether we face it or not, it quietly continues—woven into the rhythm of our daily lives.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to spend one day actually watching that rhythm with your own eyes.
2. The Things That Are There
The bat in my hands feels heavier than usual.
Why do I have to swing something this pointless, this heavy?
I’m not in the mood today.
I’m special.
Not just in class—but in the entire school, I’m the smartest. Everyone knows it.
When I speak, even the teachers listen.
Am I isolated? Maybe.
Do I have friends? No.
People who aren’t on the same level can’t possibly understand each other.
So that thing that happened—it never should’ve happened.
It was after school one day.
I don’t remember exactly how it started, but somehow, we ended up playing a baseball game against Class 3.
One of my classmates said, “Whoever wins takes the grade’s crown.”
I wanted to ask what that even meant, but I figured people who live in that world are drawn to vague, made-up stakes like that.
I understood enough.
The result? A disaster.
I didn’t hit the ball once. Our team lost.
And the so-called crown disappeared into thin air.
Just like that, my status crumbled.
Since that day, I’ve been practicing my swing in front of the house. Every day.
There must not be anything I can’t do.
Any loose thread must be stitched up immediately.
I must remain special.
On the third day of training—last Friday, to be exact—
as I was silently practicing my swings, a voice called out from behind me.
It was a man in a blue work uniform.
“Kid, you’re opening up too early. That’s why your swing’s all over the place.
Hold your torso back as long as you can, then shift all your weight at the moment of impact.”
And with that, he climbed into a worn-out pale blue garbage truck.
The truck rumbled a little ahead and stopped again near the garbage collection point.
Two workers got off and started gathering the bags. One of them was the man who spoke to me.
He chatted briefly with a group of housewives nearby, then hopped back in the truck and turned the corner out of sight.
I felt disgusted.
A man who collects garbage for a living has no business giving me advice.
I’ll never become someone like that.
Garbage collection happens twice a week: Tuesdays and Fridays.
And today was Tuesday.
The thought that he might see me again weighed me down.
For a moment, I hesitated to step outside.
But if I want to stay special, I don’t get to skip practice.
If he says something again, I’ll just ignore it.
That’s what I told myself, and I stepped outside with the bat.
Ten minutes in, I heard it—that harsh mechanical growl.
Only one vehicle makes that kind of vulgar noise.
I knew immediately: the garbage truck.
I turned my back to it and kept swinging.
Soon, a loud voice called out from the distance.
“Hey! You’re looking good! Gonna be the next Oh or Nagashima, huh?”
Then laughter—loud and rough.
I had no idea what was so funny.
The truck stopped in front of the collection point.
Two men got out and started gathering the bags, talking casually with the housewives nearby.
They were probably talking about something trashy—
pachinko, horse racing, maybe some neighborhood gossip.
I felt a strange urge to confirm just how low-class they really were.
Like a petty kind of revenge.
I leaned the bat against the wall and crept toward the collection point, hiding behind a corner.
Once close enough, the noise grew louder than ever.
I focused my ears.
“…Well, I’m just glad he got discharged.”
“Yeah, it’s just temporary, but at least now I can coach him again. He’s been looking forward to it.”
“How about school?”
“He’s got the okay. Said he’s excited to see his friends. I couldn’t really stop him.”
…Hmph.
I turned and walked back home.
A guy who collects trash, teaching kids? Ridiculous.
And the kid? Poor thing. Yeah… probably. I guess.
I picked up the bat and swung again.
Oh? Nagashima? No.
I’m me.
Keep my torso closed?
I don’t need that. I’ll be special—my way.
When I get to school today, I’ll tell my classmates:
“Let’s take back the crown.”
3. Observing a Day-to-Day Routine: Garbage Collection
Garbage goes out. Someone picks it up.
It happens in every town, every city.
This section isn’t a guide to places you should go to see it happen.
But in case you happen to notice it—early in the morning, while the city is still stretching awake—here are a few quiet pointers.
3-1. When It Happens
- In most neighborhoods, burnable waste is collected twice a week, often around 8:00 a.m.
- In Tokyo’s 23 wards, Tuesday and Friday collections are common
- Areas near apartment complexes or shopping arcades tend to start early
3-2. Where You Might See It
- Residential streets, alleys behind shopping arcades, around older apartment buildings
- No special detour required—a short morning walk near your accommodation is usually enough
- Often, the sound of the truck will reach you before the sight does
3-3. If You Stop to Watch
- Garbage collection points may be on private property → Keep a respectful distance
- Don’t point cameras at workers (consider privacy and context)
- A brief pause, then move on—that’s enough
3-4. What You Might Notice
- Quick exchanges of greetings between workers and neighbors
- Movements that are efficient, but not rushed
- A moment in someone else’s morning rhythm
It’s not something to seek out.
But if you happen to catch it,
you may find something quiet,
and very human.
Also available: Reality of J, a site sharing more on Japan travel and culture.