Down in the Dumps

By Buster McNutt

Nice. Here in Stickman County you have to have a photo ID to get through the gate at the county dump. Now, in Tennessee all the license plates have the name of the county on them, which you would think would be enough. You would be wrong. I was told by neighbor Mike that the logic is that somebody from out of county could borrow a correct-county truck, load up all their incorrect-county trash, drive over the correct-county line and “deposit” it, incorrectly, in our correct-county dump! And to think other counties waste all their time worrying about crime, education, potholes on pizza-delivery roads — all at the expense of county dump integrity.

Mike said that a guy he works with at the Propane and Propane Accessories Outlet (our count’s third biggest employer after the school system and the chicken tenders rendering plant) belongs to the OLD (Over the Line Dumpers) club. Their members compete to see who can dump their garbage in the most out-of-county dumps. You have to take another club member with you, who takes a picture of the incorrect-county dump sign, with the other member also in the picture, pointing at the truck’s license plate, and holding up a sign that says either “Not My Truck,” “Not My License Plate,” or “BAZINGO,” which means it is his truck and his (incorrect-county) license plate, in which case he plans to earn the maximum points by successfully executing the most difficult Drive-By-Dumping feat. No club member has ever pulled this last option off in our county, largely because of Henrietta, a 300-and-change-pound woman whose official title is Keeper of the Dump Gate, but is more commonly referred to as the Stickman County Dump Nazi. She’s even had her picture on the cover of Good Dumpkeeping Magazine. It is said that she has been at her job so long that she can actually smell out-of-county garbage. Once, in a test, they blindfolded her and passed five bags of trash under her nose. Three of those bags were from out of county. She correctly sniffdentified two of the three; she missed the other one because on the way to the dump, the owner of that out-of-county trash bag had stopped off for lunch at the outlet store of the chicken tenders rendering plant and bought an 18-pack of factory seconds chicken tenders, and purposely put a dozen of them in the garage bag to fool Henrietta’s nose.

The OLD Club has a web site on the Dump Net with a complete list of ways to “disguise” out-of-county garbage. You can also buy t-shirts and other dumper-logoed items, which would make great gifts for anyone you’d care to dump on this Christmas.

So, I was making my first dump run since we moved back from Florida. Until I could get my Stickman County license plates, one of our friends who lives one county over was taking our incorrect-county trash to their correct-county dump. I felt bad about doing this, but I didn’t feel as bad as the garbage had started smelling, so I rationalized this as another way to be a good neighbor, which regular readers will know has not always been my strong suit.

Now I had my Stickman County license plate and two weeks of garbage in the truck. I pulled up to the gate, and Henrietta checked my license plate and asked for a photo ID. I asked why. She gave me the out-of-county dumpers story, and I handed over my driver’s license. She freaked out, pulled out her cell phone and took my picture, a picture of my truck, and a picture of my license plate. She said those pictures will be uploaded to the county database of registered out-of-county dumpers, and if I ever try it again the “proper authorities” will be notified. She took one of my bags of garbage “for evidence” — she didn’t even bother to sniff it! She said to take my out-of-state garbage and stick it “somewhere else.” She tossed my driver’s license in the cab — my Florida driver’s license, of course; I hadn’t yet gotten my Tennessee license. This woman thought I had borrowed a Stickman County truck, driven to somewhere in Florida, loaded up with Florida trash, and driven back to Tennessee to dump it in her dump! Shades of Alice’s Restaurant! Where do they find these people, and why can’t they be abducted by aliens?

So, I stopped by the house to get a water and electric bill to prove I live in the county. Neighbor Mike came out laughing and asked if taking your trash out for a drive is a Florida thing. Grrrr.

I headed to the driver’s license office. The clerk looked a lot like Henrietta. Three hours later I came out with my temporary Tennessee driver’s license. I head back to the dump. Henrietta came out. I held my Tennessee driver’s license in front of my face. She looked at it and went back to check my license plate.

“Sorry for the delay,” she said, “but earlier today somebody with a truck a lot like yours had tried to sneak a load of Florida garbage into the dump.”

I guess they hadn’t updated the registered out-of-county dumpers database yet.

I think I’ll get on the Over the Line Dumpers web site and order a t-shirt for me, and maybe another one for Henretta.  On second thought … I’ll get her a ball cap, because I doubt they’d have her size t-shirt. Then I’ll go to the Chicken Tenders Rendering Plant’s outlet store and put a couple dozen factory seconds tenders and start putting one in each sack of garbage.

You can never be too careful.