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.