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."