Talking trash ain’t what it used to be

I miss the good ole days, when you didn’t have to watch every word you said. When you could shoot your mouth off without worrying about the repercussions ... which is something politicians and celebrities do all the time on Twitter because they have a special dispensation.

The rest of us have to be careful because someone is always breathing down your neck, ready to cancel you or run you out of town if they don’t like your politics or what you said.

I watch what I say because the vigilantes might come for me in the night, brandishing pitchforks and torches made from newspapers that carry my column.

I’m really worried about this one. A few people said I’m looking for trouble, but I believe in Freedom of Expression and the First Amendment ... and the Second and Third Amendments too. (What is the Third Amendment anyway?) I especially support the 21st Amendment, which repealed prohibition and restored our God-given right to Freedom of Intoxication.

Here’s the thing. I rile residents in my community because I’m always saying that I have to go to the “dump.” I’m corrected by people who know better. The town arbiters of propriety have informed me that the word “dump” is offensive and only used by geezers who go scrounging around piles of trash, looking for hidden treasures, such as lawn jockeys and garden gnomes.

The “dump,” I’ve been told, is a thing of the past. Now, it’s called the “transfer station,” although I’m not sure what they’re transferring. Or the “resource recovery facility,” which sounds like a term Greta Thunberg and AOC invented. I guess we’re allowed to transfer and we’re allowed to recover, but we’re not allowed to dump.

Hoity-toity communities don’t like the word “dump” because it’s not dignified. Instead, they’ll say, “Let’s go to the sanitary landfill this afternoon,” or “Let’s pay a visit to the waste disposal center.” I grew up in the poor part of town, and we just said, “I have to go to the dump.” Then, I got married and moved to my wife’s hometown, where I was prohibited from using the D-word under penalty of expulsion.

The “transfer station” is so popular in our town that politicians campaign there. (Elected officials would never want to be seen hanging out at the dump.) To get a vote, they’ll even help little old ladies toss their garbage bags in the “waste compactor,” although I think that may be a violation of the Federal Elections Commission’s regulations.

The “dump,” I’ve been told, is a thing of the past.

I couldn’t believe how many politicians gathered there on the Saturday before Election Day. I was gagging from the stench, but they were standing around smiling and pretending it didn’t stink like hell. To me, that’s the sign of a true leader.

The transfer station is such a popular place that people like to chitchat with one another, and sometimes there’s so much kibitzing that you have to wait in line to get to the compactor. I want to press down on my horn, but there are certain rules of etiquette you have to observe at a transfer station that you don’t have to observe at a dump. I’ve often wondered what kind of person likes to make small talk standing in front of a stinky dumpster.

The place has such a large following, Starbucks is considering putting a cafe where we deposit brush and tree stumps.

This is a high-class dump, so people often leave behind valuable stuff for junk collectors like me to take home. There are books, lawn statues, bric-a-brac, sporting goods, ice skates, soccer balls, lunch boxes, yard tools and a lot more. It’s better than Goodwill. I always want to look around, but my wife yells at me to get back in the car, so sometimes I have to sneak down there by myself.

I’m convinced the dump mistress, or whatever her title is, could sell some of it on eBay and make enough revenue to lower our taxes.

It wasn’t this much fun when we had a garbage man — that’s another outdated, politically incorrect term. Now, they go by the title of refuse hauler or sanitation specialist.

The crazy thing is the dump is so popular that they built luxury apartments next door, and there are only a few left. I told my wife that I’d be willing to buy a onebedroom unit so we could just walk the garbage across the street, but she didn’t like that idea.