standard. And enforce he did: his territorial defense of bin contents reminded me of some junkyard dogs I had encountered in rambles through scrapyards as a boy. One day, a man of forty or so came in with a trailer full of household goods, toys, clothing, and a few garbage bags. There was very little trash in comparison with most loads. I could see several things that were clean and useful just on the surface, so I stopped counting and positioned myself to see what was coming next. The man began throwing things into the transfer bin: stuffed animals, blankets, towels, kitchen tools, clothing, and furniture. I asked him if he was spring cleaning, or what? He said no, he was moving out of the area and getting a divorce. There was anger and frustration in his words and manner. Suddenly it was clear: here was a person who was dumping out his past, cleaning away the things that would most remind him of what he wanted to forget. The dumping was a catharsis, a fulfillment, perhaps even a vengeance. I could understand his reality, but at the same time it seemed a shame and an affront to good sense to leave the material where it was. I noted the items on my clipboard as they fell. But even this was an irritation to the man who was trashing the stuff of his failed marriage. He clearly didn't want his behavior recorded, or even witnessed. Enter the caretaker. He had a way of supporting the dumping behavior of the people using the transfer site. He would commiserate with them about how the trash builds up, how you just have to get rid of it from time to time. He could tell this guy needed a little support. The two exchanged a few words. Then the dumper brought out the prize: a framed antique art print. It was beautiful and valuable. He threw it in. I moved over to get a better look at the picture. It lay face up on the pile. As I noted "Picture" on my form, I saw the caretaker whisper something to the dumper while looking at me. The next thing out of the man's trailer was a plastic garbage bag full of paper. The caretaker pointed toward the picture. The dumper glanced at me, and with perfect and deliberate aim threw the plastic bag down so it completely covered the picture. I pretended indifference, and moved back to another dumper's truck. We talked the situation over and hatched a plan. He would take his time finishing his load. When the dumper pulled out, I would go ask the caretaker some questions and remove him from the scene. While the caretaker was occupied with me, he would jump in and rescue the picture. That is exactly what happened. While the caretaker explained to me how he kept the place clean and sanitary, the treasure was retrieved from the trash. As the second driver was leaving, he flashed me the "V" sign and held up the picture behind the caretaker's back. We both smiled. So did the caretaker. □□
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