I'm not your average trash collector.

I don't drive a big, loud truck that has a special arm on it

that picks up a garbage bin and dumps it without me ever having to leave the truck.

Now, I work for a property management company that contracts trash collection

with different apartment complexes around where I live in Birmingham, Alabama.

People set their trash bags outside their apartment doors at night,

and then I come onto the property with my personal truck and gather it.

Once my truck is full, I haul the garbage to the huge on-site compactors,

which are emptied once every week and taken to the landfill.

Most nights, it's a fairly peaceful job.

I listen to music or podcasts or audio books as I make my rounds,

but last night was a different story altogether.

The apartment complex I was working at is called Wildflower Apartments,

and there are over 200 units on the sprawling property.

I was working at Building 6 when I heard a commotion from nearby.

I only had one earbud in, so I could hear anything else going on.

I learned that lesson when I nearly got run over by some drunken idiot when I was hauling a load

to my truck. The commotion sounded like a door slamming, and then bare feet slapping the sidewalk

or asphalt. Carrying four trash bags from Building 6, I moved back toward my truck looking around.

I didn't see anyone out and about.

It was nearing two in the morning, which was usually a pretty quiet time.

I could no longer hear the running footsteps, so I shrugged the noise off and continued on my way.

...