...working fast when the coast is clear, and selectively if Hard Hat glances over… sliding on that unique black gel that permanently coats the ground at the transfer station (what is that?), my worst fears are realized. He is ambling in my direction. Nearing, his walk slow but purposeful, in one wrinkled old hand a golf club, in the other a scrap of rug, his "you're busted" look completed by a fluorescent yellow Saf-T-Vest.
Hopelessly, I continue, faster now... (get it all out before the heat comes down!) Maybe it was that cardboard box with all the old CD cases in it? Was I really supposed to go to the recycling depot for one box? I hope he didn't spot the broken paper shredder that I jammed with 8+ sheets…! (Contraband electrical appliances… I bet that was it…)
You know… It's not like I'm dumping every week. I live a pretty clean life, do my best to reduce, re-use and recycle… and on the one day I'm in here with a SUV full of (pretty innocent) household junk this guy needs to go on a power trip over the miles-long list of things that the transfer station is too good for… he must be bitter, I would be too working here...
Just as I fire the last bag of garbage out the back (trying to land it on, and obscure, the jammed paper shredder) and slam the tailgate, he arrives, drops his rug to the slimy ground, advancing it with his rusty 8-iron to a position directly under my driver's door.
"Wipe yer feet on that, you don' wanna mess up yer truck's carpets."