Dump Challenge

January 14, 2011 by Debbie

Today was suppose to be Direct TV day. My first clue that maybe not was when the phone rang at 1:30 and Jim, speaking perfect English, asked how to get to Old Fowlerton Rd from Port Orford. Well, that would be quite a drive… The phone signal was so poor today, I didn’t even try to set up yet another appointment. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week when the weather is suppose to clear.

So I packed my little hat box satellite back out to the Jeep and headed into Tilden to check the mail since Heidi was expecting a letter from her Mom (which came and was a fun treat to read!). My other two errands were to buy bananas at the Mercantile (they were sort of gray so I passed) where I got parked in and go to the dump because the Jeep was beginning to smell like a dead mouse.
There may actually be a dead mouse, but the garbage was definitely ripe, too, so I drove out Hill Top Cemetery road to the dump. But, once again, the dump was gone, even tho’ it was 2pm on a Friday and the posted hours are Monday 10-5
Friday 10-5 (I’m unclear as to whether or not that’s meant to encompass the in between days).

I made it almost back to the highway (2 miles) when the dump passed me, going back up HTC road. So I turned around and followed until the dump passed it’s parking spot and pulled way back into the landfill, where the dump, dumped. There were 2 or 3 pickups waiting back there. A local hang out?

The temperature was around 42 and it’d been raining off and on all day, just enough to make the clay roads really slick. I decided to wait for the dump to return to it’s resting place and began reorganizing the glove box. I was deeply contemplating whether or not anyone puts gloves in the glove box, or does that mean something else, as I refolded yesterday’s map and put away the superfluous sunglasses.

Remembering that I did once keep driving gloves in my Camry, I was startled by a short rap on my door. A middle-aged man in all black: hat, jeans, belt, boots, except for his wine-colored shirt, the exact shade of his pickup, signaled for me to put my window down, which I did, just a bit. He said, gold front tooth shining: “Is there something we can do for you ma’am?”

I was confused by the we since it was at least a mile back to the other trucks, and there was no one else in sight. I answered that I was just waiting to throw away my garbage. He told me to go on back to the spot where the dump was emptying. I said I was afraid I might get stuck in the mud. He assured me that if I got stuck (not that I wouldn’t) the guys would pull me out.

That didn’t sound like a very good plan to me so I declined and said I’d wait. He told me I was in the way and to pull over by the fence. Maybe 5 minutes later, the dumped sped up the road, mud flying and parked in the usual spot. The gold toothed man drove up next to me and put his window down and said: “Just between us, I’d wait to get out until we leave.”

Puzzled and starting to feel a little creepy I asked if I wasn’t suppose to put my garbage there? He just sort of smiled and said again: “I’m just saying, if I was you, I wouldn’t get out until we leave.”

At that point I took my leave and decided there are worse things than the smell of  garbage in the back of the Jeep. In the mean time, the bell rang like crazy all day and we still have no idea what anyone’s doing back there.