There are no windows in the shack that I call my office, but I could tell that it was still raining hard outside. The background noise of drumming raindrops on the metal roof rose and fell as waves of the storm blew by. Occasionally the whole building shuddered under 40 knot wind gusts. A good day to be working, I thought.
Apparently, I was the only one who agreed with me. The rest of the crew had not shown up today, because they were staging a “day without dumpfucks” boycott. They had taken a cue from the recent pro-immigrant demonstrations, and had decided that somehow management would appreciate them more if they did not come to work. Strange logic; If I had the power I would dock them all a day’s pay.
I locked the entry gates and put up a sign that read, “Dump is closed. Workers on Strike ” Let the citizens know who to appreciate.
There was an article in yesterdays WSJ about how CEO salaries in big companies are something like 300 times the rate of the average worker. My salary is actually lower than some of the crew. The board justifies it by the basketball coach theory. The crew is a team. The crew members actually do all the work. They are the stars. I am just the coordinator – the coach. So they get the big bucks, and I should just shut up before someone notices how expendable I am. That’s why I do not dare to not show up.
Damn, I mused, I should have been a CEO instead. The more people you fire, the bigger bonus they give you.
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Bring us your soggy crackers and crumpled paper yearning to be composted, your old cardboard and plastic bottles huddling in your garage. This is the dump; its not just our job, it is who we are: Dumpsterguys
