Take Me Out to the Landfill

The other day I had to haul some junk to the local landfill. As I drove the truck over the twisting, winding roads leading to the dump, I started pondering. Who started the dump and why did they pick that spot to dump stuff. Did ancient Indian tribes use the same spot to dump their unwanted belongings? If so, I bet the dump was a heckuva lot smaller than the one I was about to use.

As I got closer and closer to the dump, I noticed the amount of litter, trash, and junk increasing on either side of the road. Why was the junk there, I wondered? Did people make it that far and decide what the heck, that's close enough, I'll just dump my stuff here? Or did they suddenly realize that they might've left the stove on back home and in their panicked rush to check on it, they just jettisoned their old Frigidaire and electric wire-spool-turned coffee table off the truck right then and there? Who can say?

Then I noticed that every few hundred yards, there were big hay bales sitting on the ground with iron spikes driven through them. Crucifixion, I thought. What a horrible way to die, even for a hay bale. I wondered what the hay had done to deserve such a fate or if they were unjustly punished. Later someone told me the hay was for foraging critters, to help keep them away from the landfill area. I guess that makes more sense than my crucifixion theory.

When I finally got to the dump, I had to stop at the little office near the entrance. The guy inside told me in which area to dump my stuff. I thought it was ironic that the dump is partitioned into separate dump areas. Does it really matter where I dump this stuff, I thought? I also wondered how long the guy in the office had worked there and why the heck anyone would want to work there. I wondered if you have to send a resume in for that job. Maybe he's auditioning for the TV show "Dirty Jobs."

At any rate, while I was unloading the truck, I was able to throw my junk into this huge metal dumpster that was the size of a house. It was kind of fun really, because I could throw the stuff as hard as I wanted without fear or care that I was breaking it. After all, it was junk. It was kind of cool listening to the loud banging crash as the junk clanged into the metal bin. It sounded a bit like The Ramones.

The other thing I noticed is that the dump is strictly man's territory. I didn't see one woman there anywhere. When you think about it, I guess it makes sense. Men, as hunters, need their hands free to throw a spear or drag a carcass across the frozen tundra. Carrying around a broken table or an old washing machine would just slow you down. So naturally, men are going to throw stuff away. Women, on the other hand, are mostly gatherers. That means you'll see them at thrift stores, but not at the dump. They're collecting stuff us men are trying to get rid of.

All in all, it was an interesting afternoon, however, I would've much preferred the couch, a bag of potato chips and a ball game.