Smart Meters, Dumb Users
When I was a kid, the garbage men would come into our backyard. Every week they’d park the big truck out front, hop down from the cab, let themselves in through the side gate, and walk around back to where our round metal garbage can waited on the porch outside the kitchen door. One burly man would hoist the can onto his shoulder; if we filled two cans that week, they’d both carry one. They’d retrace their steps, dump everything into the back of their big truck and make a final round trip to replace the empty can(s) on our back porch.
Fast-forward forty years, and the situation has changed completely. The galvanized metal can with the round lid (you know, the kind Oscar the Grouch inhabits) has been replaced by three color-coded plastic bins: one for recyclables, one for yard waste, and one for actual garbage. Significantly, the garbage bin is the smallest of the three. I now do the work of hauling the bins out to the street, placing them by the curb in a neat row, adequately spaced with clearance between each one and well clear of parked cars or other obstructions.