The true test of whether you're a rural or urban/suburban dweller boils down to trash: If you haul it to the dump, you're rural.
Although Mathews does offer "waste management" services (by the way, when did trash become so fancy sounding?), I don't know anyone who actually takes advantage of this. We all pile our stinkin' trash bags into the back of our vehicles and drive to the dump.
Some folks--usually men-- view dump runs as a sport, almost a social event. Searching for any excuse to get out of the house, far away from Honey Do Lists and the accompanying nagging, these men jump at the opportunity to "help with the trash."
The Dump Runner revels in the genius of his move as he plots his course. First he'll stop at a buddy's house to catch up on Deep Thoughts, Deep Manly Thoughts, like the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition or belly button lint. Next, he'll stop by the 7-11 to revel in a hot cup of coffee and a flirtatious, yet benign, chat with the gal behind the cash register. He'll swap hunting and fishing stories with other customers who are there for the same reason: The Great Escape.
After the trash actually makes it to the dump, the Dump Runner carefully considers his options. If he's feeling particularly rebellious, he'll go back to his buddy's house, drink beer in the garage and add Deeper Thoughts to the earlier belly button lint conversation. If he's feeling guilty, he'll return home after a well-rehearsed speech about how he stopped and helped an old woman get her kitten out of a tree.
In any case, there's one place he's sleeping that night: the dog house. With a Honey Do List for a pillow.