I'm Not A Garbage Man, I'm Garbage, Man.

Inspired by this article from Gawker’s Kelly Conaboy, I remembered my only experience with a single, straight man without a bathroom garbage can. I thought about my past and the many single men living alone that I’ve dated. And how they all had bathroom garbages. Whenever I was over, and needed to throw out my gum or replace my tampon, I had a place to discard my trash. I don’t know if there is a direct correlation between having a garbage can in your bathroom and being a nice person but it’s fun to imagine it being that simple and straightforward. And those without garbage cans in their bathrooms, where I could leave my used pads and tampon applicators, were worse, selfish people who didn’t care for those whose experiences differed from theirs. I noticed this quickly when I would stay over at a man’s apartment or house, because I get my period once a month for a week like many others. I’ve never had any hang-ups about openly discussing my period with my friends and partners so I never felt self-conscious of leaving my discarded pads and tampons in their garbage bins. Forcing them to indirectly handle the inside of my uterine lining when they emptied their trash cans once a week. Occasionally, I would accidentally get my periods in their beds while I slept, causing us to sheepishly clean their sheets the next morning.

The most frustrating experience with a man without a garbage can in his bathroom came when I was asked out by a guy at my job. While I opposed dating people from the office, he only worked part time so I wouldn’t be forced to see him every day and he was a nice, thoughtful person. Or so I believed. To buy myself some time to consider our compatibility and get to know him better outside our regular job setting, I asked that we go on a date. He suggested we walk his dog by his house and then stop by after for a drink. It all felt very easygoing so I agreed to meet him the following weekend. Again, I was fooled into a false sense of security.

That weekend, I got my period. It was likely the first or second day of it because I remember it being heavier and worse than usual. They’re always bad but I manage to carry on like a functioning adult and not complain openly, at least not to everyone I talk to. I packed my giant, black purse up with pads and tampons (yes, I know I need a Diva cup) and took public transit to his neighbourhood. We met at a large but quiet dog park by his house so his elderly dog could run around. It was sweet. We sat and chatted for what felt like no time at all then he suggested we walk back to his place and get a coffee on the way. 

As we strolled, I felt excited about the prospect of seeing his apartment. As someone who has lived with others for the entirety of my adulthood, I love to observe how people live when they live alone. Without any influence from roommates, partners, or parents. How do they decorate? Do they clean when it’s just them? Do they have snacks and drinks to host people who stop by unexpectedly? 

He lived up many floors of stairs in a cute one bedroom. The neighbourhood was far from everything I like about the city but had some nice restaurants and grocery stores that made it fun for him. The place itself was neat and organized, everything having a home and being in that place when I arrived. He had little in the form of storage but was so good about purging and keeping only what was necessary that he didn’t need storage. I remember being into his decor and art and impressed by how he made the place so clean and cozy. He passed my first arbitrary, made up test of living in a well-kept, personalized apartment. 

We went to the kitchen together to grab some water and on the way he showed me his bathroom. I didn’t notice it immediately but it didn’t have a garbage can. Why would I pick up on this when I just assumed every adult person I knew would have one? Now, every time I go to a guy’s house I clock whether or not they have one and 9 times out of 10, they do. Because why wouldn’t you? Having a garbage in each of your rooms just makes logistical sense because why would you want to leave the room you’re in to toss out your garbage in an adjoining room, even one that was a short walk away? I’m annoyed when I have to go to the kitchen to get the big scissors when my small, child-sized scissors can’t cut through the tags on my new sports bras. Why replicate this irritation every day of your life?

Everyone is creating waste in their bathroom if they floss regularly in there. Which should be everyone. Unless you’re a person with reusable floss or one of those expensive water squirting floss machines. And no one is that person. I’m obsessed with my teeth and I’m not that person. My dad recently taught me that you weren’t supposed to put floss or hair or anything that isn’t liquid down the toilet. This confused me for five minutes before I googled it and the internet explained that it could lead to clogged pipes. Fine, that’s just another reason to own a bathroom garbage can.

Regardless, this man didn’t have a garbage which I unfortunately had to realize as I sat down to change my pad and tampon. I luckily left my purse in the front hall and could bring it inside the bathroom when I felt myself about to leak through my underwear. I got up and grabbed it and went into the bathroom. As I sat down, I pulled out an extra pad and tampon to do a complete replacement of both on/in my vagina. My pants and underwear were by my ankles when I started looking for the garbage to put my applicator and used pad into. The spotless floor had no waste receptacle. I called his name. He answered, “what’s up?” I asked him if he had forgotten to put his garbage back into the bathroom. He responded that he didn’t keep a garbage in his bathroom. I asked him where he put his floss or his bathroom garbage. He said he doesn’t usually make any trash in his bathroom and if he did, he’d just save it until he got a chance to put it in his kitchen garbage under the sink. What the fuck? There was no way I was going to put my used tampon applicator and blood-soaked pad under my coworker’s sink where he also discarded his vegetable peels and plastic wrap. 

I had no idea what to do. Campgrounds have pad/tampon waste baskets. Every public women’s bathroom I’ve been in has a designated, dignified place to dispose of your period castoffs but here I was, at the height of my period volume, bleeding through my pants and not having anywhere to put my pad. The tampon could be thrown out easily enough as you can flush them. But putting in an applicator and removing it then having to save the bloody plastic in the tiny tampon wrapper is dehumanizing. And you can’t flush an entire maxi pad down the toilet lest you want to make the circumstances significantly worse by creating a flood in a trashless bathroom. I was fuming. This man was making me wrap my pad up as well as I could with the new pad’s wrapper, then envelope it once more in toilet paper so it didn’t get lost in the bottom of my purse. I felt completely unprepared and like I had somehow failed when he was the one without a bathroom garbage. 

How can someone who dates people with periods not have known to have this basic need met? How can someone who claims they cared for their ex-girlfriends, someone who dates women who get their periods now, someone who claims they like these people, not at least have a garbage in their bathroom for disposing of used tampon applicators? I don’t get it? What could this mean for the rest of his place? For the rest of his personality? What else wasn’t he showing me? I don’t think it’s a crime to not have food prepared or extra drinks in your fridge in case of a guest. It helps to keep your fridge and cupboards stocked with something that can be thrown together quickly. In the same way that you would alter your dinner menu to accommodate the dietary restrictions of your friends. It’s not their fault they can’t eat gluten. Just like I can’t help having my period. Where was this guy’s head?

I finished in the bathroom by, again, throwing all my used sanitary products into my purse and reminding myself to dispose of it at home after I left his house, which would be almost immediately. I returned to the living room where he was looking up something on his computer. Grateful for the chance to talk to him about this giant oversight, this mistake he’d want to rectify if he simply knew how inconvenient it was for me to have my period at his house without a bathroom garbage, I immediately asked him why he had never considered this? He got defensive and said that he didn’t create enough garbage in his bathroom to justify the added responsibility of one more waste bin. I asked him if he considered the people who came to his apartment, like myself today for example, who had my period right in front of him. He said that it made no sense for him to own a garbage for the sole purpose of accommodating his guests. My rage could have melted my face off. But it didn’t. I disconnected and the conversation fizzled because all I could think about was how selfish he was. His face was so smug and self-satisfied, like that answer made sense.

Slowly, he began to realize that I was inching away from him on the couch. My body language was closed off and I wasn’t ready to spend any more time with this person. He called this out and I agreed that I was missing something integral in him and that I would want to keep our relationship platonic. I don’t know if it was entirely the bathroom garbage thing. This is easily fixed by him going out and buying a garbage and then having it live there for his guests. It was more what the lack of a garbage can represented. A lack of care and attention. A lack of compassion towards my problems and a lack of willingness to help or be of any assistance at all in a time of need. Where women of the world are always prepared with an extra tampon or pad, this man couldn’t keep a vessel for bathroom garbage in his home bathroom. I wonder if he has one now.