When I was a “yute” growing up in New Jersey, and residents had to dump the product of attic and basement clean ups, there were three locations to choose from: Secaucus landfill sites, West Milford for for automotive salvage… most of my expired race cars, and the Pine Barrens. Please see “The Sopranos” for the latter’s context.

The first was perniciously odoriferous, limited in rules, and offered the opportunity to shoot rats, if you knew the gatekeeper. The second was not only a place to drag the carcass of a dead Ford, but it also offered the opportunity to shoot rats, if you knew the gatekeeper. An invitation to visit the third would suggest a breakdown in a friendship, only one rat would be shot, but there was a good chance of meeting THE gatekeeper. The best of the three? Potato – Potahto.

The Maine dump scene

Our town once had a dump for residents, but then it didn’t. A small town, residents often live on large parcels of land and own a tractor with a back hoe. For urban dwellers, the latter has no sexual connotation. So for many, when attics or basements get to spill over full, they ride a tractor a hundred yards or so into the tree line, dig a hole and deposits their family heirlooms.

What about those residents who do not live on large parcels of land? They usually know a dirt road that goes onto a neighbor’s large parcel of land, they know how to drive with truck lights off in the middle of the night, and will share their excess with their neighbors. But none of that is neither here nor there…

I have an old, heavy duty, long bed work truck that can hold lots of stuff, and I have a friend who lives in Lewiston who, coincidentally, has a Lewiston dump pass. So the truck was loaded up, everything tied down, and it was up the road to Lewiston. I did not know if I should anticipate a Secaucus, West Milford or Pine Barrens type of experience, but I went without shaving for a few days , and wore old work clothes. A condition and wardrobe for the working man.

Arriving at the Lewiston dump, I was greeted by an exceptionally well maintained, country style and nicely landscaped gate house. The gate keeper was in uniform… kind of like a forest ranger. Sharp creases, pants and shirt, clean shaven, a baseball cap facing in the right direction, and sunglasses from a page on Aviator monthly. I looked down at my uniform and wondered if I should have selected a different vintage sweatpants and T shirt. In my defense, I did not know it was a more formal engagement.

Guided to pull up on the facility scale, instructed to wave my dump card at the wireless receiver, the typical process is to weigh going in, then again on the way out, with the weight difference posted to the dump card account. The gate keeper examined the back of the truck, asked a few questions about the sorted piles, and provided instructions as to which offloading stub received which junk. How hard could it be? Look for a pile of junk, pull up and match it to one of the piles in the truck. Right?

There were no mountains of junk at the dump!..!!

Once clear of the gate, I was lost, and my brain could not pattern match and recognize any place that looked appropriate to receive more trash. There were just perfectly paved roads, rows of recessed dumpster, outlining runs of chain link fence, and signs explaining where to place which trash. It was all very intimidating. So I pulled up along side two guys sitting on a wall while eating lunch.. yes, the place was that clean, confessed to having no idea what procedure to follow, and plead a combination of insanity and “I’m new here”.

A a guy wearing a classic hard hat and bright yellow and orange safety vest, driving a large earth mover, pulled up and said, “Follow me”. Perhaps this has happened to others attempting to divest themselves of trash, using a dump pass under false pretenses, wracked with guilt and unable to think clearly? So I followed the earth mover from one drop point to the next; corrugated, paper, Styrofoam, metal, dehumidifier. The dumpsters were neat, the signs clearly marked, other patrons orderly and quick. Dump graduate students no doubt.

People we so incredibly nice and so incredibly patient. Some patrons even helped me off load my truck, so doubt in response to me moving like a tree slough unloading, and them having to wait in queue behind me. On the way out, the gatekeeper waved me through, with a “No charge. We’ll catch you next time”. And they will. That place was no nice, I might drive up just to hang out.