The Dump

A personal experience.

by David Gibbs / DavidGibbs6

Many a year ago, after telling my boss to jam it, I found myself out of work with no clue what was coming next. Being that I don't like to be jobless or more correctly put, without an income. I went about finding a new source of money.

After calling around friends and family, I found I had a cousin who worked in the local waste management association. Locally it was called the Recycling Yard, the Dump, or as many who worked there called it, 'This Shithole.'

It was easy to get work there and the pay wasn't too bad either. I started with four other new recruits within the week. Two of them didn't last the day. The other didn't last the week out.

Maybe it was motion sickness. The factory consisted of a large, three meter round, fifteen meter long tube, called a trommel screen. The rest of the plant was a Dr Seuss like mess of conveyors and steel walkways. The trommel was supposed to separate the waste into different components and the walkways were for the workers to stand on and sort anything that wasn't supposed to be on that particular conveyor. When you stand, staring at a moving conveyor for a while, eyes darting back and forth looking at stuff, you tend to get some motion sickness.

There were two interesting groups of things about this job that might make it noteworthy and worth reading about. The first was the people. They were, and probably still are, the strangest collection of individuals you would ever meet. There were people like me who just wanted a job fast and didn't care what it was. Many others couldn't hold down other jobs because of issues, drug issues, alcohol issues, mental health issues or a combination. Fortunately for these people the company couldn't hold down workers. Some stayed at the dump for decades, becoming lifers. There were also some young people who hadn't worked anywhere else and didn't know any better.

My first week a young guy who was already missing teeth from fights or drug use, asked me what this strange bottle said on the label. It was Saké in a small round bottle. I explained that it was a Japanese rice wine type of spirit. He downed it on the spot. It didn't matter that it had come from someone's bin and that he had no idea why it had been thrown out. He had a box of six. I don't know how many he drank that day.

People would take anything they found if they wanted it. We all did. Some people would wear the clothes, others hats or shoes. Some people would eat something if it was still sealed and in date, others didn't care how out of date it was. I saw workers stashing bags of weed trimmings to cut and smoke over lunch break and people would check every smoke packet they found, looking for free cigarettes. And yes, they did get many a free ciggy.

Which brings me to the second thing that was noteworthy. The things that people throw away into the recycling. Here in Australia we have two sulo bins, one for rubbish and one for recycling. You know the deal, paper, cardboard, plastic and tins. In my area they have red or yellow lids, clearly distinguishing the two. It's no accident when something goes in the wrong bin.

So besides the recycling that was supposed to be there and as well as the aforementioned alcohol, cigarette packets, clothing and food items. There was everything else. You name it, we saw it. There was a constant flow of nappies, half loaves of moldy bread in bags, porn magazines, shoes, clothes, underwear, literal shit, vacuum cleaner bags, vacuum cleaners and dead animals. People really don't care what they put in a bin. The flip side to that coin was that we all had the latest street directories, books to read, game consoles, games, controllers, cords, phones, sim cards and chargers. We found people's wallets, (no you're not getting that back) loose money, people's personal documents, people's personal photos (yes porn too) wedding rings and birthday cards, sometimes with free money as a bonus. It's amazing what people will throw out.

I guess you might be wondering what I used to take.

Mostly it was stuff that I could sell. I was never hard up enough to wear clothes or eat dump food. But I sold many a collectible toy or old computer part. Sometimes I would sell clothes if they were brand names. I took copper wire and scrap brass. Anything that turned a quick dollar for me, sometimes a lot more than a buck too.

I still have some collectible knives and a sword. A fishing rod and home stereo that was still new in the box when I found it.

It wasn't the best time in my life but it wasn't bad. I only stayed two years for the money. But when you stick so many interesting people with so many interesting things in one place, you get some very interesting conversational pieces.

I have a friend who worked there with me and he had a saying.

"If you want something, sooner or later you will find it."

At the time he was telling people to look out for a new brake cable for the front of his BMX bike. And yes he found one.

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Some of my favorite yarns.

The two guys who drank everyday, arguing over whether or not they should try a brown bottle of home-brew. They had found it unbroken in a pile of glass fines. I told them they were insane and that it was probably sauce. Which it turned out to be.

When the new phone book came out, everyone ditched the old ones. Almost everyone in the factory was either trying to tear it in half like a strong man or throwing one at someone else when their back was turned.

The supervisor who used to blow up the sex dolls for laughs and let the forklift driver run them over and see if they would go bang.

The dad who rang up the company asking if we had found a chainsaw, because his 'Moron' son had accidentally thrown it out with the waste. It was found bent to hell.

The angry guy who once a week would quit, screaming 'fuck this shit' storming out of the factory, only to come back tomorrow as if nothing had happened.

The time I found a wet, hairy, misshapen dead thing, held it up only to discover it was liquid inside and a chihuahua, making three people vomit in the process.

The sheer number of tennis balls that we used to throw at each other and the magnetic darts from kids toy sets that were stuck to the tin roof, out of reach.

The collection of nose boogers smeared on the back of the toilet door. People liked to sit and pick the dirt and dust out of their noses.

And the constant workplace hazard of flying deodorant and air freshener cans. People removed the plastic tops and smashed the little valve on the nearest hard surface, turning the thing into a nice smelling, gas propelled rocket.