Post a Comment On: A Nod to Nothing

Last night I went to the rental property in Apple Valley and filled up a trailer with a load to take to the dump. Because of my work schedule and weekend things to do, I wasn't going to be able to get there the same day I picked up the waste, and planned to shoot over this morning, ready to pull in when it opened at 6:30 a.m.

It's dark and 6:30 a.m. So it's difficult to see, and after getting up at 5:45 a.m. my judgment isn't so great. What I learned at the Burnsville dump this morning is that just because the great big dump truck in front of you pauses on the scale for a few seconds and then takes off up the giant mound of garbage, that's not what you should do. I found myself next to several large trucks on a particularly smelly mountaintop, approached by a large bulldozer/scooper. The scooper man pulled up next to my little Diamante (on loan from my father in law, along with the trailer) and said in the most cheerful, 6:30 a.m., surrounded by stinky trash voice, "They called up from the bottom. You weren't there long enough. You need to head back down and weigh in and pay at the same time."

I asked, "Do I come back up here?" And it was a long way up.

"Nope. The dumpsters are right near the entrance."

DOH! The lady at the check in wasn't nearly as amused with my suburban antics, but she took my money and pointed me at the right bins anyway.

As an addendum to the day's trailer stupidity, when I got home this evening, I realized I couldn't find my checkbook, which also has my license and credit cards. I looked all over, even going so far as to look in the grass near the unhitched trailer. Nothing. After checking online to see if there had been charges or deductions to the credit card and bank account, it occured to me that I had unhitched the trailer in the dark, when it was black. That clicked. So I looked at the spare tire on the front of the trailer, and there was my black checkbook, so perfectly camoflauged I couldn't see it from 5 feet away unless I was looking for it. Twelve hours, and no one had touched it. Finding it made me feel better about losing my vpn dongle. At least no one can drain my bank account with a rotating vpn key chain.