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(I liked Erin's subject title so I stolze me some)
So I'm on the phone with the dumpster salesman who, for some reason, has a New Jersey accent. He sounds like the one Jerky Boy. (the one with the NJ accent) I tell him I want to rent a dumpster and that I had seen one on our street months ago that should do nicely. He looks in his records and tells me that it was a 12 Yard dumpster and that it would be $335 for 10 days. I was disappointed that he didn't correct me and insist upon calling it a "Maxi Waste Receptacle Module" or some such term. I like to know these kinds of things and lord them over the people around me. I was all set to order it up when he quickly added "We have them in 14, 16, 18 and 20 yards too. or...larger if you need that."
Now my Mama didn't raise no idiots. I learned long ago that I am easily swayed by the "Well you COULD get the thing you just asked for, or you could have the more expensive thing that is MUCH better and did I mention it's more expensive?" ploy. It's true. Sadly, knowing your weaknesses rarely offers anything in the way of conquering your weaknesses. So my ears prick up. Hmmm. A TWENTY yard dumpster you say? Why, that's almost double the size of the one I had asked for. It's also WAY bigger than we'll ever need. But better to have MORE room than not enough, right? And you say it only costs 60%more than the 12 yarder? Why, I'd be throwing money away by NOT getting it!
And so Monday morning at 8am, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, I am watching the man finagle this behemoth of a dumpster into the yard beside my parent's house. I giggle. It is HUGE. It looks like that thing the Jawas drove in Star Wars. Ah well. We can always bring some stuff from our house to fill it I muse. I don't know what stuff I was thinking of, but good to have a plan. And for once, a plan with room. A plan with a margin. This plan could hold an entire household of garbage. We would be sitting pretty when we were done and laughing like hyenas while toasting my thriftiness with cheap champagne whilst sitting on the floors of our clean house.
The 20 Yard Maxi Waste Receptacle Module was filled over the brim by noon on Tuesday.
Through an odd twist of fate, the emails that we had sent out begging for help had actually garnered us some help. Plus the unemployed guy, Dave from across the street smelled work and an outlet for his hatred of "all things not busted up." In the words of my cousin, the guy was "all horsepower." He moved like a sledgehammer with a crack-fueled speedboat motor hooked up to it. Plus heshamed inspired the rest of us to move similarly.
My Dad and his Dad had built a floor to ceiling shelving unit to house all my Dad's media and media players back in the 60's when it must have seemed like one wall unit could actually handle most of it. Now my Grandfather wascheap Scottish and my Dad's cabinetmaking expertise consisted of being enthused about someone else building something for him. Point is - the thing isn't a family heirloom, or a usable piece of furniture, or even salvageable hardwood. It was made from 1/4" plywood, stained dark brown and varnished. Pretty ugly. But it was HUGE. It stood looming over everything in the basement as sort of a symbolic mountain of memories. It was always big, but in the context of cleaning out the house - it was Mammoth. I had several times considered just clearing it of media and stuff and leaving it as a thoughtful gift for the new owners of the house. "Here for to please you in the tradition of my family - is an enormously ugly huge brown plywood shelf unit from 1961. May your lives be enriched by it as you prosper and grow." But in my head, I knew it had to come down. As ugly as it was though, I have inherited enough of my parent's reluctance to discard, that it was also a bit of an emotional pang to imagine disassembling it.
I had cleared it of all stuff and had barely mentioned to Dave that it was dumpster-bound. I turned my back to sort through yet another box of receipts from my father's mail-order business from 1971. When I turned back to look, the entire shelving unit was a smallish pile of flattened plywood, stacked and ready for the dumpster. 10 minutes. It took 10 minutes for Dave to reduce this monolith to space-saving rubble. How long had it taken my Dad and his Dad to plan and build it? Each shelf area designed to hold a different media format all of which are now completely obsolete.
If only I could shrink Dave and his hammer down and put him to work in my mind and heart - well it would be a big mess and Dave would probably do time for it.
-s-
So I'm on the phone with the dumpster salesman who, for some reason, has a New Jersey accent. He sounds like the one Jerky Boy. (the one with the NJ accent) I tell him I want to rent a dumpster and that I had seen one on our street months ago that should do nicely. He looks in his records and tells me that it was a 12 Yard dumpster and that it would be $335 for 10 days. I was disappointed that he didn't correct me and insist upon calling it a "Maxi Waste Receptacle Module" or some such term. I like to know these kinds of things and lord them over the people around me. I was all set to order it up when he quickly added "We have them in 14, 16, 18 and 20 yards too. or...larger if you need that."
Now my Mama didn't raise no idiots. I learned long ago that I am easily swayed by the "Well you COULD get the thing you just asked for, or you could have the more expensive thing that is MUCH better and did I mention it's more expensive?" ploy. It's true. Sadly, knowing your weaknesses rarely offers anything in the way of conquering your weaknesses. So my ears prick up. Hmmm. A TWENTY yard dumpster you say? Why, that's almost double the size of the one I had asked for. It's also WAY bigger than we'll ever need. But better to have MORE room than not enough, right? And you say it only costs 60%more than the 12 yarder? Why, I'd be throwing money away by NOT getting it!
And so Monday morning at 8am, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, I am watching the man finagle this behemoth of a dumpster into the yard beside my parent's house. I giggle. It is HUGE. It looks like that thing the Jawas drove in Star Wars. Ah well. We can always bring some stuff from our house to fill it I muse. I don't know what stuff I was thinking of, but good to have a plan. And for once, a plan with room. A plan with a margin. This plan could hold an entire household of garbage. We would be sitting pretty when we were done and laughing like hyenas while toasting my thriftiness with cheap champagne whilst sitting on the floors of our clean house.
The 20 Yard Maxi Waste Receptacle Module was filled over the brim by noon on Tuesday.
Through an odd twist of fate, the emails that we had sent out begging for help had actually garnered us some help. Plus the unemployed guy, Dave from across the street smelled work and an outlet for his hatred of "all things not busted up." In the words of my cousin, the guy was "all horsepower." He moved like a sledgehammer with a crack-fueled speedboat motor hooked up to it. Plus he
My Dad and his Dad had built a floor to ceiling shelving unit to house all my Dad's media and media players back in the 60's when it must have seemed like one wall unit could actually handle most of it. Now my Grandfather was
I had cleared it of all stuff and had barely mentioned to Dave that it was dumpster-bound. I turned my back to sort through yet another box of receipts from my father's mail-order business from 1971. When I turned back to look, the entire shelving unit was a smallish pile of flattened plywood, stacked and ready for the dumpster. 10 minutes. It took 10 minutes for Dave to reduce this monolith to space-saving rubble. How long had it taken my Dad and his Dad to plan and build it? Each shelf area designed to hold a different media format all of which are now completely obsolete.
If only I could shrink Dave and his hammer down and put him to work in my mind and heart - well it would be a big mess and Dave would probably do time for it.
-s-
State Of Being: awake
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