Surviving the curse of the Free Dump Day
It was looking like a casual day. One chore on the “todo” list: Make an early morning run to the dump with a load of leaves, sticks, twigs and some cast-off limbs (tree limbs – no unsuccessful cannibalism here, sorry). That is “green waste” in the landfill vocabulary.
After the dump run there would be time for a trip up the hill to gain some elevation and some cool air. These 100-degree days are getting tiresome, and the prediction was at least 100 if not 103.
Things were going according to plan until we pulled up to the gate at the dump. Waving a $5 bill at the gate attendant, we got a big surprise. “No charge, it’s free green waste day,” we were told. “Bring as many loads as you can, it’s all free.”
“Oh no,” I sputtered.
“I’m sorry, I had to tell you it was free.”
“Dude, I would have given you $10 to keep quiet, but it’s too late now.”
A dark cloud settled in the cab of the pickup as that knowledge sunk in.
“Gee, they should do a better job advertising the free dump days.
“Yeah, so we can schedule a trip out of town on free dump days.”
After unloading the truck we faced the grim truth:
There were probably three more loads of green waste waiting for us. We had planned to casually take a load to the dump now and then, whenever it was convenient, and definitely when it was cooler.
But the Curse of the Free Dump Day had us in its grasp. Free. All day. As many loads as we could muster.
Back we went with a new plan. We decided to tear the band-aid off and just haul everything to the dump.
Besides, we were going to save a whole $20 on dump fees and it didn’t matter if we had to drink $40 worth of Gatorade and Coke to avoid heat stroke and churn through an easy $10 in gas to do it. Wasting the rest of the day recovering from the strain and heat stress from four trips to the dump? You bet. Not having more dump runs hanging over our weekend plans for the next couple of weeks would be worth it. Besides, twenty bucks is twenty bucks.
Obviously our plans for a nice cool day in the mountains were put on hold. We were neck deep in the Curse of the Free Dump Day.
Back we went to the piles of leaves and twigs. We had ice water and wet neck gaiters and big hats.
We dug into the piles with big scoop shovels and a pitchfork. In 15 minutes sweat was running down my back like I was standing in the shower. Sweat stung my eyes. I had to stop and stand in the shade until my heart quit pounding. My face was flushed.
But by God we were going to save $20 even if it was the last $20 we ever saved in our lives.
Onward.
We hit the dump.
The attendant was apologetic. “Sorry, man, but I had to do it.”
We unloaded and pondered what exactly the woman in the shiny new Tesla dropped off at the dump. Guess everyone loves saving $5.
Back to the pile.
By now it was scorching but we fought through it and ignored sweat-stained shirts. We loaded up and headed back to the dump to unload number three. A woman tossed a coffee table off her truck like it was a toy. Scary.
The end was near. But first we had to go inside and stand in front of the cooler vent with eyes closed and arm outstretched like pilgrims in front of a holy shrine.
The last load, like all final stages of a curse, was tougher. Big limbs, lots of twigs and small limbs, leaves that had decomposed to mulch and were heavy as dirt. Gritting teeth and swallowing every cold beverage in reach, we finished. At the dump, we were treated like conquering heroes who had scored a miraculous victory over a powerful, superior foe.
Our reward: A Root Beer Float, six ibuprofens, naps, basking in the knowledge there would be no more dump runs for at least a month, and the satisfaction of knowing we had battled and beat the Curse of the Free Dump Day.