If only every bureaucrat, city worker, or Town Dump employee would greet me like this fellow does every time I go to the Acton Dump. It would certainly increase my chances of leaving with a smile and friendly thoughts about the local folks who keep our complex infrastructures running smoothly.
We'll call this guy Rodgah. Why? Well, he looks like a Rodgah and his mother was blessed with the foresight to name him what he became. He came on after the great Dump Coup back 5 years or so. Maybe longer. Time has a way of getting out of hand here in Acton. This year went by so fast, I don't think Summer could move quick enough to jump on board. We went right from Spring rain to Fall leaf drop.
So Rodgah was part of the new crew who took over from the Dump Nazis we had before. A friendly and agreeable temperament must have been a requirement to be part of the new crew. This group never seem to get fired up, bent out of shape or flustered. Even when some flat lander from Mass decides to empty his Lakeside cottage of 30 summers worth of camp residue. After leaving a trail of trash crumbs all the way back to their fancy camp on Great East Lake, they pull up with trash, garbage and that old boat cover all hanging this way and that. I don't think those folks from Mass know what rope is for.
They stop in front of the big hopper. Everyone has to stop at the big hopper first. So they stop and it is immediately obvious they have no clue where stuff goes. This bin, that bin, or maybe inside the big building. They stand there holding a lawn chair and get pissy when they can't throw it in the hopper. No, no,no you have to take it over by the trailer and lean up next to that 1932 chunk of rusting cast iron. The tourist turns and squints like the Sun is blinding them. But it ain't. It's behind them. Folks from away seem to just like squinting I guess. Meanwhile the line of trash bearing pilgrims backs up almost to the H Road. The tourist does not care. They are too busy squinting and waving old lawn chairs around.
After a Sunday of too many cars with out of state plates and after too many pissy tourists holding lawn chairs and squinting, the dump crew keeps their composure. With friendly nudges offered by firm hands, they shepherd the clueless through the magic that is "Going to the Dump". Especially Rodgah. Rodgah always has a smile, a tale, or some pithy advice to share with one and all. And today he was giving out chuckles. He unofficially called today Hawaiian Dump Day. Told me he couldn't wait to get home and try the new outfit out in front of the missus. Only with slightly less on.
Going to the Dump is enjoyable again. I don't feel like a drug smuggler trying to make it through customs anymore. The Dump Nazis used to poke, prod and interrogate before rubbish ejection was sanctioned. Rigid tight asses who would boot you out with trash and garbage still on board if you looked at them funny. Nothing worse than coming home from the dump with the load you had wished to see in the hopper.
The Dump does have the token Grumpy Gus. The Acton Dump Grumpy Gus handles the plastics, cardboard, and busted electronics transactions. Today he kind a grumbled and cast an accusing eye my way when I asked him what to do with that TV I had to get rid of. He just mumbled some while he opened the trailer so I could toss it in there to be recycled. That's about as bad as it gets now days.
No more breaking into cold sweats anguishing over whether I have my newspaper sorted right. No more worrying I will lose a hand if I dump some #3 plastic in the #1 bin. Yeah, going to the Acton Dump these last 5 or so years is like taking a mini-vacation.