Christmas comes but once a year...

Chesapeake

Around 8:15 Wednesday morning, Curtis Clark realized that the long day ahead was about to get longer - the blade that packs the trash in the rear of his garbage truck had quit working.

He sighed and cut the engine off for a few seconds. The red foil from a ham fluttered from a waiting trash can. Mounds of holiday leftovers were already heaped in the truck's hopper - bags of snowflake-splashed wrapping paper, rumpled cardboard, an abandoned Barbie townhouse.

The day after Christmas ushered in one of the peak seasons for waste management folks.

This week, it's reams of gift wrap, Target bags squeezed tight with red ribbon, aluminum turkey pans and cranberry jelly cans. And all those boxes, enough to build a skyscraper, that held Christmas morning dreams.

Next week it'll be Christmas tree carcasses lining the road.

David Thompson, waste management administrator for Chesapeake's Department of Public Works, said they don't track figures for the volume of refuse.

"We just know it's a lot," he said.

Clark, 50, measures it in time. On lighter days, he can complete his shift by 2 or 3. On Wednesday, when his route would take him through Hickory and other sprawling sections, he figured he might not pull in until after dark.

With the hopper blade still on the blink, Clark drove to the next driveway, where someone had parked a pair of overflowing cans too close together - they should be at least 3 feet apart. As he gingerly worked a lever with his left hand, the arm of the truck grasped and heaved one can high, dumped it and returned it without touching the other. The can was light - the truck swayed only slightly, like a push on a swing. The heaviest ones rock the big vehicle like an amusement-park ride.

In his eight years as a waste management operator, Clark has seen all types of stuff in the cans - dead animals, car engines, concrete. But Wednesday's haul, box by empty box, told of treasure: a new red mixer, a remote control helicopter, a set of cookware.

By the time Clark neared the Virginia Beach city line, the hopper blade was working again. He popped on his blinkers, backed into a wide driveway to turn around, and began to cruise the other side of the street.

His truck lurched and beeped, the only noise along the road except for the driving rain. There was little traffic. Most of the houses were dark, snug against the cold, Christmas lights still shining.

As Clark drove, he noticed something he'd see repeatedly during the rest of his route - a trash can that he'd already emptied had been refilled, awaiting the next pickup. A bloated blue bag with smiling snowmen sat on top.

Denise Watson Batts, (757) 446-2504, denise.batts@pilotonline.com