The lads were on their afternoon coffee break. Lardass was catching a catnap, tilting his chair against the wall on the back legs just like I was always telling him not to do.
Bill was reading the morning paper. As usual he was wearing latex gloves to protect him from germs. He shouted. "As if we didn't already have enough to worry about, look at this! He held up his newspaper "I knew it! It says your doctor's neckties can harbor colonies of dangerous bacteria. They wash their hands but their ties collect and carry germs from patient to patient."
"Really?" said George, who was doing the Times crossword puzzle with an ink pen. "How many necktie related deaths have been documented?"
Bill did not detect the sarcasm of George's inquiry. "Yeah, countless people have probably contracted some dreaded disease just going in for a physical exam."
"Freudians believe that the tie is a phallic symbol." said George glancing in my direction. "A statement of size, I believe. Big tie, big unit. That's what they say, anyway. I have long ago given up the primitive practice of wearing a tie."
Suddenly, I was feeling uneasy about my uniform. Since I am management, I insist on a strict dress code for myself to discriminate me from the common workers. I usually wear clean clothes, a white shirt and, as a personal trademark I have a large collection of fashionable bow ties...
"Hey, it's getting warm in here!" I said, loosening my collar button and stuffing the tie in the top drawer.
"And, besides, break time is over."
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Monday, May 17, 2004
Cogito Ergo Trash
At the dump, we consider ourselves in the idea business. We realize that the word “Trash” is merely a label indicating a subjective opinion of an item’s usability.
One of the plaques on the wall near my desk is a quote from Othello, "Who steals my purse, steals trash. . . . But he that filches from me my good name, robs me of what not enriches him and makes me poor indeed."
Lardass once remarked that The Bard must have been some pansy, carrying stuff in a purse. LA has some good points but no background in English Literature.
Since Trash is not absolute state, it must be relative. And all things relative are figments. So, what we are dealing with here at the dump is nothing less than perceptions of reality
It may be difficult for some to see this truth. They may well ask, “How can a fetid dumpster full of used disposable diapers have any practical value to anyone?” Well, that’s what they used to say about ancient peat bogs, friends, and look what happened after just a few eons.
Today, we have black gold worth zillions just lying just a few pipelengths below the surface of the desert. That most of it currently belongs to a few emirs and emperors is a temporal matter to be resolved via the ultimate modernization (ie, demolition) of the middle east and the transference of wealth to Texas. But let us not stray into the realm of politics. Remember, we are in the idea business.
We were puzzling on the nature of trash. As George is wont to say, “one can, with unlimited time, always find one's way out of any maze by picking one wall and holding to it until one reaches the end of the maze.” This may not be a practical solution, give the size of some mazes and the shortness of human mortality, but it states an absolute truth. This leads us to the ultimate conclusion: Given UNLIMITED time there is no such thing as trash.
Awed by this overwhelming fact of existence, we Dumpfucks must quietly accept our assigned roles as custodians of the ideas that others have refused, rejected, ejected, tossed overboard, shredded, bent, stapled, mutilated, rendered, shit, pissed, bled, ejaculated, spit, chewed, sweated, lost and broken. We realize that all ideas are not good ideas, but dammit, attention must be paid!.
George and I were musing about the decision to demolish the maze, which has caused several untimely deaths, multiple injuries, threatened litigation and many complaints from the citizens about it being unsafe, unsightly and possibly the dumbest idea we had ever had. Sometimes we mistakenly lay our pearls before swine.
Lardass lumbered noisily into the shack, as he always does, breathing heavily and bringing with him the everpresent aroma of shit.
“Ok, boss. I finished bulldozing that stupid maze. What do you want me to do now?”
George glared at him as if he were a mindless cretin. Before I could respond he yelled to Lardass “Why don’t you stab yourself in the eye with an icepick?” Whereupon he stomped out of the shack slamming the door behind him.
"Cripes, what's eating him?" Lardass said. I shrugged.
"Some ideas are hard to let go."
One of the plaques on the wall near my desk is a quote from Othello, "Who steals my purse, steals trash. . . . But he that filches from me my good name, robs me of what not enriches him and makes me poor indeed."
Lardass once remarked that The Bard must have been some pansy, carrying stuff in a purse. LA has some good points but no background in English Literature.
Since Trash is not absolute state, it must be relative. And all things relative are figments. So, what we are dealing with here at the dump is nothing less than perceptions of reality
It may be difficult for some to see this truth. They may well ask, “How can a fetid dumpster full of used disposable diapers have any practical value to anyone?” Well, that’s what they used to say about ancient peat bogs, friends, and look what happened after just a few eons.
Today, we have black gold worth zillions just lying just a few pipelengths below the surface of the desert. That most of it currently belongs to a few emirs and emperors is a temporal matter to be resolved via the ultimate modernization (ie, demolition) of the middle east and the transference of wealth to Texas. But let us not stray into the realm of politics. Remember, we are in the idea business.
We were puzzling on the nature of trash. As George is wont to say, “one can, with unlimited time, always find one's way out of any maze by picking one wall and holding to it until one reaches the end of the maze.” This may not be a practical solution, give the size of some mazes and the shortness of human mortality, but it states an absolute truth. This leads us to the ultimate conclusion: Given UNLIMITED time there is no such thing as trash.
Awed by this overwhelming fact of existence, we Dumpfucks must quietly accept our assigned roles as custodians of the ideas that others have refused, rejected, ejected, tossed overboard, shredded, bent, stapled, mutilated, rendered, shit, pissed, bled, ejaculated, spit, chewed, sweated, lost and broken. We realize that all ideas are not good ideas, but dammit, attention must be paid!.
George and I were musing about the decision to demolish the maze, which has caused several untimely deaths, multiple injuries, threatened litigation and many complaints from the citizens about it being unsafe, unsightly and possibly the dumbest idea we had ever had. Sometimes we mistakenly lay our pearls before swine.
Lardass lumbered noisily into the shack, as he always does, breathing heavily and bringing with him the everpresent aroma of shit.
“Ok, boss. I finished bulldozing that stupid maze. What do you want me to do now?”
George glared at him as if he were a mindless cretin. Before I could respond he yelled to Lardass “Why don’t you stab yourself in the eye with an icepick?” Whereupon he stomped out of the shack slamming the door behind him.
"Cripes, what's eating him?" Lardass said. I shrugged.
"Some ideas are hard to let go."
Monday, May 10, 2004
Amazing
When George came into the cobb shack at the end of his shift, I was sitting at my desk staring at the piles of memos and brochures, losing lottery tickets, half-used note pads, unread magazines, and assorted other detritus. I was trying to decide whether the clutter is a byproduct of being busy, or due to an obsessive compulsive disorder.
I had recently seen a program on TV dealing with obsessive hoarding, where people cannot throw things out. You read stories about reclusive people who are found dead in their apartment amid heaps of old newspapers and trash - sometimes with large numbers of pets. I did not want to become one of those stories.
It is mildly ironic that someone who works at a dump has trouble throwing stuff away. But, I like the fact that they have deemed it a disease, and thereby washed away the possibility that it is due to personal failings on my part.
George seemed in a good mood. He had been working all day on his new idea: a garbage maze. He thinks it could turn into a real attraction. Fun for the whole family. George loves puzzles.
Lardass was frowning as he came through the door of the shack. "What the hell is that pile of junk on the east fill area?" He wondered.
George looked at him with an air of scorn. "The new maze," he intoned, as if that settled it.
"New maze? I didn't even know there was an old maze. Hah! Looks like a pile of junk to me."
"Everything here looks like a pile of junk." Me, chiming again.
Bill arrived. He pushes the door open with his elbow, being careful not to touch the doorknob because of his morbid fear of germs. Another Irony, I thought. A guy who works at the dump afraid of a few microbes. Strange world we live in.
"You're late," I scolded him. He ignored me and said to George,
"Hey, Maze Genius, you better get over there. Theres a geezer lost in your fucking maze. I think he is having a heart attack."
I grabbed the defibs and we ran off in the direction of the East fill area.
I had recently seen a program on TV dealing with obsessive hoarding, where people cannot throw things out. You read stories about reclusive people who are found dead in their apartment amid heaps of old newspapers and trash - sometimes with large numbers of pets. I did not want to become one of those stories.
It is mildly ironic that someone who works at a dump has trouble throwing stuff away. But, I like the fact that they have deemed it a disease, and thereby washed away the possibility that it is due to personal failings on my part.
George seemed in a good mood. He had been working all day on his new idea: a garbage maze. He thinks it could turn into a real attraction. Fun for the whole family. George loves puzzles.
Lardass was frowning as he came through the door of the shack. "What the hell is that pile of junk on the east fill area?" He wondered.
George looked at him with an air of scorn. "The new maze," he intoned, as if that settled it.
"New maze? I didn't even know there was an old maze. Hah! Looks like a pile of junk to me."
"Everything here looks like a pile of junk." Me, chiming again.
Bill arrived. He pushes the door open with his elbow, being careful not to touch the doorknob because of his morbid fear of germs. Another Irony, I thought. A guy who works at the dump afraid of a few microbes. Strange world we live in.
"You're late," I scolded him. He ignored me and said to George,
"Hey, Maze Genius, you better get over there. Theres a geezer lost in your fucking maze. I think he is having a heart attack."
I grabbed the defibs and we ran off in the direction of the East fill area.
Friday, May 07, 2004
Keeping Citizens in the Dark
George has been lobbying for months to stop the charade. He thinks we should come clean to the citizens and admit that we stopped baling and selling recycled plastics a long time ago. (Nowadays, we just take it into Boston under cover of darkness and dump it into the harbor with the other landfill and Hazmat.
Believe me, it's a lot cheaper than negotiating with recycling companies - trying to keep accounts straight. And, it's much easier than trucking the crap up to New Hampshire to dump in the wilderness, like we used to.
"It's a sham" George declared disapprovingly. "You have poor old widows in some tiny apartment trying to separate containers, even washing them out. The kitchen is filled with recycling bags. And what do we do? We just moosh all the garbage together. It's a sham."
"Hoarders." declared Bill. "They keep all kinds of worthless shit in their apartments. It's an obsesssive compulsive disorder! I saw it on TV"
"It's anti-dump." I chimed-in.
"What are you two dumpfucks talking about?" George said.
"Well, you seem to think that the little old ladies are They think they're doing something good for their grandkids."
"Hey, we still recycle cardboard and radioactive waste...." I offered. "Besides, it makes the citizens feel good to separate their trash. "
The way I look at it, recycling is a lot like going to church. It may be a waste of time, but it's a good idea. Here at the dump, we are in the idea business.
Believe me, it's a lot cheaper than negotiating with recycling companies - trying to keep accounts straight. And, it's much easier than trucking the crap up to New Hampshire to dump in the wilderness, like we used to.
"It's a sham" George declared disapprovingly. "You have poor old widows in some tiny apartment trying to separate containers, even washing them out. The kitchen is filled with recycling bags. And what do we do? We just moosh all the garbage together. It's a sham."
"Hoarders." declared Bill. "They keep all kinds of worthless shit in their apartments. It's an obsesssive compulsive disorder! I saw it on TV"
"It's anti-dump." I chimed-in.
"What are you two dumpfucks talking about?" George said.
"Well, you seem to think that the little old ladies are They think they're doing something good for their grandkids."
"Hey, we still recycle cardboard and radioactive waste...." I offered. "Besides, it makes the citizens feel good to separate their trash. "
The way I look at it, recycling is a lot like going to church. It may be a waste of time, but it's a good idea. Here at the dump, we are in the idea business.
