Working In A Dump

I once worked in a dump.   I had wanted to work in the nursery's greenhouses and I was very disappointed to be told that the only opening the nursery had for me was working the security guard booth; assessing homeowners' loads of lawn and garden refuse, taking payment, and waving the vehicles on through to find their spot in the dump to dump.  This nursery provided one of the few dumps for grass and yard clippings in Kansas City, Kansas.  No garbage was allowed, just lawn and landscaping plant waste, small tree limbs, that sort of thing.  I thought that maybe I could work my way up to the living plants in the greenhouses so I hired on to deal with the dead ones.

I wore a yellow, high-visibility material, safety vest and felt quite official, almost fascist.  No garbage or construction waste was allowed, just lawn and landscaping debris.  I would eye-ball the load to assess the poundage versus volume, with absolutely no experience, no guidelines, and probably no merit in my calculations.  I liked both being outdoors in the sunshine and cozy in my guard booth when the rain pattered on the roof, but I had to quit sort of abruptly when I realized that these men bringing their household refuse were taking exception to what they considered the exorbitant fees that I was demanding of them.  My policy was no pay equals no entry, and I was tough.  But it was not very long before it became clear to me that one of these men scowling at me might come back later to settle the score with me.  So I quit the dump.

I worked in a dump.

by Annmarie Throckmorton, copyright 2026️