Niege Ouvrage

No rest for the weary. As I passed through the gates at 7:30am. I was please to see that the access road had been plowed down to the tarmack. Lardass, my ultra-reliable employee had come early to open-up. Sometimes I wonder what I would do if he ever decided to, well, you know, go somewhere else.

I parked the Minivan in the space with the sign that read: "Reserved for DFM." Walking to the cobb shack that I call my office, the snow squeeked underfoot. The sound went through me like a knife scraping on a dry china plate. This cold weather was getting tedious.

The scene was undeniably beautiful though - even here at the trash-heap of civilization. I had to stop and take it in. The sun was just breaching the eastern horizon with that strange slant of blue light that you only get at dawn in January. Four inches of fluffy snow from last night's storm had temporarily erased the harsh browns of the compost mountain (where many secrets lay buried offering mute witness to decomposition ... and, maybe a few potential witnesses slept silently... ); the rusting fleet of battleship gray dumpsters looked like a train of crystal treasure troves, draped with a ghostly sheet of icy lace, on a trackless void.

I went Inside, flapping my wings to warm up. In the corner the franklin stove had been cranked-up, and the iron glowed orangely. Lardass and George were sitting with their feet up on the edge of the stove getting warm. The scent of hot rubber permeated the crackling air. They were reading the morning papers from yesterday. Everything at the dump is used. Including us.

We exchanged the usual greetings - actually merely grunts of acknowledgement. We are after all, guys. We don't need to say "good morning" or "nice to see you, how's the family" or any of that wussy stuff.

Verbal Greetings are superfluous in our office, but as The Manager, I have learned that "Thanks" is always an appropriate motivator for the good behavior of underlings.
"Hey, Vernon. Thanks for Opening up and plowing the access road." I always use his given name when I am offering praise. He was busy prising a booger out of his nose, which he inspected carefully and then flicked at the stove. I could hear a faint hiss.
"Wasn't me, Boss." he grinned showing red rimmed gums. "George was the earlybird today. He did everything, even the stove."
George peered pedantically at me over his reading spectacles, waiting for my gratitude.
"Yah, well, you missed a spot near the Book Exchange." I frowned and stomped over to my desk. I sat down pretending to be very engrossed in some papers.
Management does not like surprises.