I went with a bloke to run a load of rubbish out to the local tip. On the drive out, he told me about how the place had changed in the past couple of years.
First, it had been put under private management. The managers did nothing with the place other than put up a booth at the gate and start charging people to come in. Local residents responded by dumping their rubbish half a mile up the road. So the council pissed the first mob off and gave it to another mob. The new mob turned the place into one of the finest and most well organised public tips going, and they'd even dropped the fees on residents, charging only for commercial waste.
If I was Sarah or Melbs, I'd be able to give a magical description, full of poetic adjectives, that'd make all of this come alive in your mind. But I'm not. So I'll just do my best to describe things.
The place was surrounded by a three metre mesh fence and we drove in at the bottom of a hill. There was a little booth and a donger on one side of the entrance, and a "shop" full of stuff in good condition on the other. A dirt track wound its way up the hill, with neatly organised piles on either side, and a couple of bulldozers scooting back and forth, burying anything that might rot. Hundreds of crows and ibis circled in the sky and hopped about amongst the refuse.
The first thing that struck me was that the place didn't really smell. What struck me next was the sheila manning the gate. She looked about 30ish, and had lilly-white skin and blonde hair with dark roots, which was pulled back. I guess you'd say she had a "stocky" build; a little flabby, but not at all fat. Her face was hard and square, but I still found her reasonably pretty. She wore sunglasses and a purple string bikini, and was sprawled out - sunbathing - in one of those folding pool chair things. A pair of orange and navy-blue cover-alls were slung over a table next to her. She raised her head slightly in acknowledgement as we pulled up next to her.
The bloke driving had rolled down his window as we came through the gate. "Some busted versilux sheeting and some old wiring and computer crap" he shouted over the engine. "Sheeting over there, and the rest over there" she shouted back while pointing. "Thankyou."
I never asked and he never offered. Part of me wanted to snap a photo on the way out, but the other half thought that it would be weird and intrusive. She was quite a sight, sprawled out like someone at the beach with that whole scene of bulldozers and scavenger birds and a mountain of human waste behind her. Striking and beautiful in a strange and unusual kind of way that I don't really know how to describe. I must remember to do up a picture when I get home.
Somebody remind me, please.
2 comments :
That's a great visual Alex. If you were a writer... you wouldn't be sharing that one. So I'll take dibs on it, unless Sarah really wants it. One day it could crop up somewhere... hahaha
Some questions: Did the place stink? Wouldn't it be really really hot to sunbathe? Was she really brown?
If I didn't have a friend working with mining companies I'd have to say 'what's a donger' but that's ok, I know.
If you think you can use it, you're more than welcome to it. And I'm pretty sure Sarah doesn't read this, so I wouldn't worry about her pinching it.
There was very little smell because the bulldozers were very efficiently burying everything that would rot. But really, she would've had to be there regardless of how it smelled, so she might as well have made the most of it.
Also, her skin was pasty white, and it was very hot; so unless she was slathered in sunscreen, I imagine she would've been bright pink by the end of the day.
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