The life of a rusted trash can

I've been thinking about life lately.  They replaced my buddy with a rubbery plastic number when he rusted out a couple of years ago, and then they started to store the big old bag of salt in me.

I knew my days were numbered.  Salt is the kiss of death for us metal trash cans.  Yeah, I knew I had a tiny rust spot before the salt, but I had a lot of good years ahead of me!

Then they started to ignore me, leaving my salt alone for months at a time.  The damp started to get to me, but with less opening and closing, I thought I had a chance.

Then winter came and more salt turned up.  Oh the shoveling!  The agony!

I heard one day that the family was moving.  We were all in trouble, all of us trashcans.  I started composing my will and disposing of my worldly possessions.

And then that old lady showed up and instead of throwing things away like that young guy, she says, "But that could be useful to someone else! We can't throw it away!"

Now it looks like I'll rust away right here because she won't let that guy throw away anything!  Amazing!