5:09 PM |
I have been attempting to squeeze about four households into mine. There was the high school and college household. Then the first job household, and the married household (most of which was hastily packed into storage bins). Now my actual household that is pretty much the way I like it.
EXCEPT, I am now getting things back from the other half of my married household. My son is moving his stuff in as it appears dad is going to move. Then I have my father's household, and anything that I might want from my sister's household, as she is renovating and has to reduce, reduce, reduce.
Going to the dump for the first time is one of those proverbial ripping the band-aid off events. We actually do have a dump out here. You drive your truck onto the scales, just like the big boys do. Then you go up to the "small loads" area. They have three giant, I don't know, pits encased in metal. You back your truck up to the bumpers and just toss it all in. Most of the time the guy in the next truck offers to help. I never take it. I do, however, enjoy the aid in the form of a front-end loader. You can toss your sofas right on the ground, and they scoop them up and take them away, up the garbage mountain. They also have an "appliance" shed that has mostly old TVs and computers. I have no idea where they go. When you're done, you go get weighed again. You pay per pound, but every township has a different rate. My tab is usually $23 or so, although I have gotten $112 worth of crap in my bed. You pay at a window where they know which vehicle is yours (even though you have to keep on giving your township). Incidentally, outside the weighed area, there are recycling places for the usual cardboard, paper, bottles and cans. They also take batteries (toxic) and used motor oil. I asked what to do with paint. They told me to let it dry out and then just throw in into the trash. Hmm.
Back to the point, I have been cleaning out my storage bins (or units, as you probably call them). I pay $3000 a year for these, and I have plenty of space in my house, barn and basement. Well, when I finally got around to it, I was locked out because they saw the truck I rented. In my naivete with the business of personal storage, I didn't get it. It turns out they wanted to make sure I paid my last bill without absconding with the collateral.
I brought a broom, a dust pan and brush, garbage bags, paper towels and Fantastik. I don't like dirty things in my house. Silly me. I needed a hazmat suit and an exterminator. As I sorted out the stuff, it became apparent that the first cut needed to be made by smell. So many of my things had mildewed. Mostly the expensive stuff. When I got to the floor, I found that the aggregate poured there in about 1990 had crumbled, and I had a sort of semi-marsh. No joke, there were dead frogs in there. I needed to pare down my hoard, so that really wasn't that bad. Except for my memorabilia. My mother had saved every report card we ever got. My dried junior prom corsage. The ashtray I made in Brownies with my picture peeking through the glass bottom (at that time it was okay for Brownies to make ashtrays). And all of it was filled with silverfish.
Eventually, it was done. I filled a bag with the mice, frogs, and stink bugs. I'm not too squeamish, as I am still hunting the resident groundhogs with a shotgun (and also took my 9 mm to the head of a dying deer that was run over). When I checked out, I noted that there was an issue with the floor and with some vermin. I told her that I had left a bag. She nodded and said that she'll let them know that I had a bag in the unit. Uh, no. I left the bag for them right in the office.
I am accustomed to driving trucks. I made three or four uneventful trips between my barn (for further triage) and the storage place. The last time, something rolled in the back, making me start (and swear). What on earth could be broken now? My copper gutters, it was. I had run the truck right up to the barn roof, tore off the gutter and miscellaneous shingles, and worst of all, I took a huge chunk out the fiberglass body. $5000 at least. And I had declined the insurance. And my insurance through my credit card and regular policy doesn't cover trucks. That'll teach me to take possession of my possessed possessions.
So, I've been making regular trips to the dump. And it feels great.
EXCEPT, I am now getting things back from the other half of my married household. My son is moving his stuff in as it appears dad is going to move. Then I have my father's household, and anything that I might want from my sister's household, as she is renovating and has to reduce, reduce, reduce.
Going to the dump for the first time is one of those proverbial ripping the band-aid off events. We actually do have a dump out here. You drive your truck onto the scales, just like the big boys do. Then you go up to the "small loads" area. They have three giant, I don't know, pits encased in metal. You back your truck up to the bumpers and just toss it all in. Most of the time the guy in the next truck offers to help. I never take it. I do, however, enjoy the aid in the form of a front-end loader. You can toss your sofas right on the ground, and they scoop them up and take them away, up the garbage mountain. They also have an "appliance" shed that has mostly old TVs and computers. I have no idea where they go. When you're done, you go get weighed again. You pay per pound, but every township has a different rate. My tab is usually $23 or so, although I have gotten $112 worth of crap in my bed. You pay at a window where they know which vehicle is yours (even though you have to keep on giving your township). Incidentally, outside the weighed area, there are recycling places for the usual cardboard, paper, bottles and cans. They also take batteries (toxic) and used motor oil. I asked what to do with paint. They told me to let it dry out and then just throw in into the trash. Hmm.
Back to the point, I have been cleaning out my storage bins (or units, as you probably call them). I pay $3000 a year for these, and I have plenty of space in my house, barn and basement. Well, when I finally got around to it, I was locked out because they saw the truck I rented. In my naivete with the business of personal storage, I didn't get it. It turns out they wanted to make sure I paid my last bill without absconding with the collateral.
I brought a broom, a dust pan and brush, garbage bags, paper towels and Fantastik. I don't like dirty things in my house. Silly me. I needed a hazmat suit and an exterminator. As I sorted out the stuff, it became apparent that the first cut needed to be made by smell. So many of my things had mildewed. Mostly the expensive stuff. When I got to the floor, I found that the aggregate poured there in about 1990 had crumbled, and I had a sort of semi-marsh. No joke, there were dead frogs in there. I needed to pare down my hoard, so that really wasn't that bad. Except for my memorabilia. My mother had saved every report card we ever got. My dried junior prom corsage. The ashtray I made in Brownies with my picture peeking through the glass bottom (at that time it was okay for Brownies to make ashtrays). And all of it was filled with silverfish.
Eventually, it was done. I filled a bag with the mice, frogs, and stink bugs. I'm not too squeamish, as I am still hunting the resident groundhogs with a shotgun (and also took my 9 mm to the head of a dying deer that was run over). When I checked out, I noted that there was an issue with the floor and with some vermin. I told her that I had left a bag. She nodded and said that she'll let them know that I had a bag in the unit. Uh, no. I left the bag for them right in the office.
I am accustomed to driving trucks. I made three or four uneventful trips between my barn (for further triage) and the storage place. The last time, something rolled in the back, making me start (and swear). What on earth could be broken now? My copper gutters, it was. I had run the truck right up to the barn roof, tore off the gutter and miscellaneous shingles, and worst of all, I took a huge chunk out the fiberglass body. $5000 at least. And I had declined the insurance. And my insurance through my credit card and regular policy doesn't cover trucks. That'll teach me to take possession of my possessed possessions.
So, I've been making regular trips to the dump. And it feels great.