Joe from Eaton Rotten Rapids has been tormenting me with off coloured inappropriate jokes on the email. I got so emotionally traumatized that I’ve decided to launch a frivolous lawsuit for financial compensation for all my hurt feelings. All I need is a sleezy lawyer with no integrity or self respect to represent me… but where does a guy find one a those?!?!?
I don’t get that first one - is it a slur about garbage pickers?
When I was a kid we had THEE BEST dump in the world. It was filled with treasure for a kid, and populated by evil trolls, orcs and sea gulls. We faced fierce and ruthless competition from the Hutterites who came to prospect at the dump and I hated those bastards with the heat of 1000 suns. My friend Bill got in a fight with them when he found a discarded mini-bike in the mechanical section of the dump where the junked cars were precariously stacked. But this big fuggin hoot (Hutterite) claimed to have seen it first and stole it from him. We started carrying slingshots to keep those assholes at a distance when we were foraging. Who in their right mind would throw out a minibike? Who cares? At the dump…. Life is generous!
The Emporer of the dump was Bomag Bob. Despite having the best job in the world, he was as miserable as the day was long, perhaps because he was always spackled with bird chit from the sea gulls and having to do is job while dodging retarded children and inbred Hutterites.
All good things must come to an end, and for us, our idyllic hunter/gatherer lifestyle came to an abrupt end when Bomag Bill broke down one day. My Dad and a couple of his mechanics at the county shops were called out to sort him out and get him running again. My heart goes out to site mechanics; they work outside in the mud and snow, on behemoth machines in the worst environments.
The guys got spattered by the sea gulls as they worked which made them as ornery and miserable as Bomag Bob. It took the better part of the day for the boys to get Bob’s packer apart and figure out what was going on. Even Pop - who ordinarily flew a desk - was turning wrenches, squelching in the mud and trying to dodge falling bird chit. Those guys were ready to make holy war on the Bomag corporation by the time they got the thing apart…apparently a transmission problem had paralyzed the machine. Bob was shut down for the day and sent home. The mechanics ordered in the parts which were all fortunately in stock. The next morning they’d be back at it, putting the machine back together in horrid conditions.
Or so they thought.
The next morn the guys were back on the job and cursing and swearing. It started to rain. Slowly the parts were put in and the machine was pieced back together… but they were missing a part. It was a huge, bronze gear weighing well over 100 lbs. Large enough that you simply don’t misplace it. Someone had taken it… and of course…the culprits turned out to be the garbage picking hutterites. They’d pinched the big gear and hawked it to the scrappers who paid a pretty penny for bronze. The Hoots denied everything, the cops were called and the incident blew up and even appeared in the town newspaper. Buying a new gear and paying the guys to install it would cost $20K or more…which was big coin in those days to shell out for doings of some thieving Hoots! The uproar and outrage reached the County Reeve and Council - and they moved to ban garbage picking at the dump. Tall barbed wire fences went up, and for awhile the RCMP were arresting and fining the trespassing pickers that wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. Like Greta Thunberg… a large part of my happy childhood was stolen that day.
And now Joe thinks he can just make rotten jokes about pickers? Sob! š
How DARE you!!!
Today, 100 years later…I find that I preside over my own landfill just as Bomag Bob did. The Reclusium downstairs looks like a bomb went off, with random junk scattered hither and yon. Just looking at the mess turns me into a spitting, gobbing wretch! I seriously gotta seriously start throwing some chit out, sweep up, re-organize… GAH! It’ll take friggin HOURS!!!š¤¬ But… I am emotionally invested in all this crap somehow. All it does is sit around collecting dust. It’s time to start decluttering again.
My Friday is effed… but I hope yours is better. Work hard, pass the day fast - and have a great Friday.
Thanks for dropping in.
Filthie
Ahh, those days when we as kids could peruse the dump at will. There were turf wars all the time as kids from other nearby neighbor hoods would come scrounging at the same time as us in our hood went. Epic battles with garbage shit been thrown, rocks and yes, we had wrist rockets and to this day carry battle scars from those slings. I am more proud of them than the wounds I received in Bosnia! Man(kids) in mortal combat with edged weapons(sticks) and mortars(dirt clods) and hypersonic missiles(wrist rockets), boiled down to man's utter basic tools of warfare. It too was denied to us as fences went up and a hired dump security guard with his little Datsun truck chased us out. It then became a work in subterfuge and timing to sprint in, find and pick treasure and hightail your skinny ass out past the gaps in the fence, that we opened up...
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DeleteFor us kids… once the Mounties showed up…you were done. If they caught you, they’d put you in a cell and call your parents! Then when ya got home it was a death sentence, and the red coats would rule it a a justifiable homo cide…
Pole dancing to raise money for farm equipment - another new low in America.
ReplyDeleteYears ago Dad and I would head out to the dump to get rid of the refuse of his roofing business. My Mother noted one day," You two bring back more crap from the dump than you took there". Probably true once or twice.
ReplyDeleteOur dump was too dangerous to do picking. If you went you took a weapon. In all my childhood only once did i see less than 4 bears searching the dump for food. Even our hutterites went in large groups with members chasing off bears.
ReplyDeleteExile1981