I was sitting at my desk in the shack we call the office reading the paper this morning. The lads were sitting around the unlit Franklin on coffee break. Although the winter had not been bitter, it had seemed overly long. This week we had not needed the heat of the stove to warm our bones. The crew still arranged their chairs in a circle around the stove - out of habit, I guess.
Bill was worrying about catching Avian Flu. He was lecturing Lardass on personal hygiene. Talk about wasted words. Lardass just smiled and nodded. He was proud of his filth and his scent.
George was squinting at the head of a pin through a large magnifying glass, that made his nose monstrously large from where I was sitting.
Lefty was scanning the obituary page of yesterdays paper, probably looking for his own name.
As I said, I was reading the paper, wondering how come we did not get more illegal immigrants looking for work here at the dump. Bush says we need them to do the jobs Americans don't want to do. We used to have a Canadian immigrant, Rasheed, who worked here last year and was paid in Canadian Dollars. We had to let him go after he was mauled by his pet Bengal Tiger. A man with one arm isn't much use around the heavy equipment.
I was formulating a plan to save costs - fire the current crew, and get some guest workers in here at coolie wages - when someone knocked softly on the office door.
"Hey, what was that?" No one ever knocked on the door. We were surprised into silence.
Another knock.
"Come in," I yelled.
A nicely dressed white man with watery blue eyes entered carrying a brown briefcase and what looked like a bible. His companion was an attractive young Asian woman.
"Good Morning, eh, gentlemen." He greeted us as he scanned the room, eyes adjusting to the light. Evangelism had come to the dump.
"Hold on just a second mister." It was Bill, standing up and addressing the couple as they stood in front of the door. "You can't come in here!"
"Is there a problem?"
"Yes there is a problem," Bill shouted, pointing back toward the rest of us with his thumb "We are all in the Jehovah Witness Protection Program. You can't come in here."
After they left, Lardass summed up what the rest of us were thinking, "Brilliant!"
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Trade Fever
A frigid dawn gave way to an icy bright blue sky this morning - the second day of Spring. Tuesdays are always slow at the dump. The crew looked like big orange wraiths bundled in their thermals, hoods and parkas as they came through the door for coffee break. Seated at my desk in the cobb shack that I call my office, I had to hold the papers down against the wind that blew in through the door as the lads surged through the door.
I was looking through a folder of documents that had been faxes over from the Dump Manager over at the Newton Upper Falls Landfill. He was interested in doing a deal. He was looking for a Class A Front End Loader operator. All my guys are expert at the heavy equipment, well almost all. (Lefty had to go back for re-training after the unfortunate fork -lift incident over in the HAZMAT tank. That little mistake caused three hundred gallons of radioactive liquid Pu239 to contaminate the soil; now, no one can go into that area for another 50 thousand years.)
The NUFL dump manager had sent brief resumes and photos of some of his offered “trades.” Wendy looked to be in her mid thirties, red headed and buxom. Good credentials so far, I mused. She had one of those slightly unfocused eyes (like Reba McIntyre) that I find tantalizingly sexy. But she had only been in the dump business for a few months (“…since I got laid off as a pole dancer when they closed down the Purple Banana Club.”) Hmmn. Maybe I could use some extra skilled help in the office… But, No, this would never work out especially if George was going to stay on the team. Among his weaknesses, redheads were at the top of the list in bold uppercase letters. He would be sniffing around the office like a randy Labrador retriever. No, the only workable deal here would be to trade George for Wendy. But then I would lose his inestimable value. Part of his assignment is to calculate the estimated fill-rate of the neutrino dumpster. He had spent the last week counting junk quarks and other discarded subatomic particles. And entering the totals into His PDA. He is the only one on my staff who can do arithmetic. I needed that skillset.
The next trade candidate was Melvin. His photo looked like a police mug shot except he was grinning broadly, showing a slight jutting jaw. He looked like your typical joe six pack with a malocclusion. His resume stated a work objective as: “To be associated with a work group that shares a belief in Scientology, being nice and creating an hygienic workspace.”
Next.
Richard Wanker looked like an interesting candidate, One of his references was quoted “Dick is a real heavy hitter who can be outstanding in the right field.” Crap. I don’t need a baseball hit dog, I need people who can keep the 900 horsepower shredder-bailer from jamming-up during peak load cycles.
I tossed the folder in the trash. I might as well just stick with the dumpfucks I know.
I was looking through a folder of documents that had been faxes over from the Dump Manager over at the Newton Upper Falls Landfill. He was interested in doing a deal. He was looking for a Class A Front End Loader operator. All my guys are expert at the heavy equipment, well almost all. (Lefty had to go back for re-training after the unfortunate fork -lift incident over in the HAZMAT tank. That little mistake caused three hundred gallons of radioactive liquid Pu239 to contaminate the soil; now, no one can go into that area for another 50 thousand years.)
The NUFL dump manager had sent brief resumes and photos of some of his offered “trades.” Wendy looked to be in her mid thirties, red headed and buxom. Good credentials so far, I mused. She had one of those slightly unfocused eyes (like Reba McIntyre) that I find tantalizingly sexy. But she had only been in the dump business for a few months (“…since I got laid off as a pole dancer when they closed down the Purple Banana Club.”) Hmmn. Maybe I could use some extra skilled help in the office… But, No, this would never work out especially if George was going to stay on the team. Among his weaknesses, redheads were at the top of the list in bold uppercase letters. He would be sniffing around the office like a randy Labrador retriever. No, the only workable deal here would be to trade George for Wendy. But then I would lose his inestimable value. Part of his assignment is to calculate the estimated fill-rate of the neutrino dumpster. He had spent the last week counting junk quarks and other discarded subatomic particles. And entering the totals into His PDA. He is the only one on my staff who can do arithmetic. I needed that skillset.
The next trade candidate was Melvin. His photo looked like a police mug shot except he was grinning broadly, showing a slight jutting jaw. He looked like your typical joe six pack with a malocclusion. His resume stated a work objective as: “To be associated with a work group that shares a belief in Scientology, being nice and creating an hygienic workspace.”
Next.
Richard Wanker looked like an interesting candidate, One of his references was quoted “Dick is a real heavy hitter who can be outstanding in the right field.” Crap. I don’t need a baseball hit dog, I need people who can keep the 900 horsepower shredder-bailer from jamming-up during peak load cycles.
I tossed the folder in the trash. I might as well just stick with the dumpfucks I know.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Pecking Order
When I returned to the office this morning after a week-long vacation, I was prepared for the pile of paperwork that would be awaiting me. No one else around here does any of the heavy lifting when it comes to administrative process. None of my staff seems to have an iota of initiative, or ambition to move up the organizational ladder of responsibility here at the Recycling and Disposal Facility.
During the last week, I spent a lot of time sitting on the beach soaking up the glorious rays of the sun and watching the endless variety of birds - seagulls, terns, shrikes, pelicans, sandpipers - working the shoreline. Groups of brown and white pelicans skimmed over the water surface on the hunt for hapless fish that schooled near the surface of the clear warm water of the Gulf of Mexico.
There was a constant cooling wind off the water. Flocks of birds would gather in small groups to rest on the sands, and also keeping a sharp eye out for an morsel of food dropped by beachgoers on the sand or left unattended on a blanket. Always facing windward, the gulls would hunker together in close gangs of 10 or 15 birds. Sometimes you could see that there were as many as three distinct species in a group - but always self-segregated. Orange beaks with Orange beaks; Grey heads with Grey Heads; White heads together also.
There was a constant jockeying around for position. With some birds acting aggressively, attacking another bird with no obvious provocation. Chasing them out of their positions. Squawking furiously. Somehow, the pecking order of the group was established without a lot of actual pecking.
My thoughts returned to reality as I drove up to the shack that I call my office. I was glad to be back home. Where everyone knows your name. Where you belong. The guys would be glad to see the old DFM back on the job. Very likely, they had been wandering around aimlessly all week. They know that I am the glue that binds them together as a team. The leader and mentor that they need. The peacemaker when they get into their petty squabbles. Without me, they are like the seagulls and crows over at the landfill.
When I walked into the office, Lardass and Lefty were sitting in front of the Franklin reading the paper. Bill was eating some Chinese food out of a carton even though it was not lunch time yet. George was sitting near the window looking out with a pair of binoculars and a thumb counter.
"Hi guys" I said cheerfully, "I'm back!"
No one looked up from what they were doing. Ok I thought, the old silent treatment. I thought of my cat and how annoyed she was that I had left her alone for the week. The crew was just being petulant. Like the cat, they would warm up after a bowl of tuna fish.
I sat down at the desk. The inbox was empty except for several phone message slips. A sheaf of invoices and bills of lading were stacked neatly in the "to be filed" box. Someone had been taking initiative. Someone who was probably after my job, I mused.
During the last week, I spent a lot of time sitting on the beach soaking up the glorious rays of the sun and watching the endless variety of birds - seagulls, terns, shrikes, pelicans, sandpipers - working the shoreline. Groups of brown and white pelicans skimmed over the water surface on the hunt for hapless fish that schooled near the surface of the clear warm water of the Gulf of Mexico.
There was a constant cooling wind off the water. Flocks of birds would gather in small groups to rest on the sands, and also keeping a sharp eye out for an morsel of food dropped by beachgoers on the sand or left unattended on a blanket. Always facing windward, the gulls would hunker together in close gangs of 10 or 15 birds. Sometimes you could see that there were as many as three distinct species in a group - but always self-segregated. Orange beaks with Orange beaks; Grey heads with Grey Heads; White heads together also.
There was a constant jockeying around for position. With some birds acting aggressively, attacking another bird with no obvious provocation. Chasing them out of their positions. Squawking furiously. Somehow, the pecking order of the group was established without a lot of actual pecking.
My thoughts returned to reality as I drove up to the shack that I call my office. I was glad to be back home. Where everyone knows your name. Where you belong. The guys would be glad to see the old DFM back on the job. Very likely, they had been wandering around aimlessly all week. They know that I am the glue that binds them together as a team. The leader and mentor that they need. The peacemaker when they get into their petty squabbles. Without me, they are like the seagulls and crows over at the landfill.
When I walked into the office, Lardass and Lefty were sitting in front of the Franklin reading the paper. Bill was eating some Chinese food out of a carton even though it was not lunch time yet. George was sitting near the window looking out with a pair of binoculars and a thumb counter.
"Hi guys" I said cheerfully, "I'm back!"
No one looked up from what they were doing. Ok I thought, the old silent treatment. I thought of my cat and how annoyed she was that I had left her alone for the week. The crew was just being petulant. Like the cat, they would warm up after a bowl of tuna fish.
I sat down at the desk. The inbox was empty except for several phone message slips. A sheaf of invoices and bills of lading were stacked neatly in the "to be filed" box. Someone had been taking initiative. Someone who was probably after my job, I mused.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Dump Temporarily Closed
The dump will not be open again until March 13th.
I am travelling to far flung dumps in the Southern part of the US, so you can just come here to click on the naked pictures link, which is what most of you do anyhow.
DFM
I am travelling to far flung dumps in the Southern part of the US, so you can just come here to click on the naked pictures link, which is what most of you do anyhow.
DFM
