The Pack Rat

It was an all around crazy affair at the house today. I’ve been trying to locate a company that would drop off a roll away dumpster in my driveway so I could get rid of the 17 tons of construction debris that’s been hanging out in front of my house. It was proving to be more difficult than it should have been and the best I could get was a 20-yard long dumpster that was going to cost me a small fortune. Yes, you read that correctly – I said 20 YARDS. That’s approximately 60 feet. I was going to have a 60-fucking-foot long dumpster in my driveway. I’m not sure my driveway is 60 feet long but I am damn sure I wouldn’t need but 20% of its capacity.

So, I stumbled upon some dude that runs a business called Pack Rat, and all he does is haul truckloads of crap to the dump. I gave him a call and he agreed to come out this afternoon. The second he pulled up I knew I was in for a treat. He had a big old pick-up truck towing a huge trailer and he hopped out of the cab carrying his shirt in his hand. As he lumbered down the driveway he put his shirt on but didn’t even attempt to button it up. I was like, dude, I appreciate you putting your shirt on, but you're pretty much showing me everything I don’t want to see, what with your beer belly and hairy chest all hanging out everywhere. Plus, he smelled like a hamster. A hamster I tell you! Like he rolls around in a big plastic ball and sleeps on sawdust.

When I showed him my two massive piles of debris, he was quite literally beside himself. He said nothing for several very long moments and I could tell he was thinking, “What-the-fuck is going on inside this house???” He scratched his head and said, “well, this is going to be some work, but I’m the man for the job. Let me see what we have here before I commit to a number.” I shit you not, he spent the next 15 minutes just walking around my piles of shit, scratching his head, then crouching down, them wiping his brow, then walking around again, then scratching… FOR 15 FUCKING MINUTES. Finally he came up with a cost that, quite frankly, would have been a nice down payment on a yacht or an Apache Helicopter. I had no choice though – it was cheaper than the Olympic-size dumpster and he agreed to haul everything away today.

The dumbest thing I did today was offer to help him load it up. My logic was that it was going to take him about 9 hours to do it himself, and I could rid myself of the hamster smell in an hour if I helped. Stupid logic.

Once we finally got to work, I jumped right in and grabbed arm full’s of debris to throw in to the back of his truck. After several trips I looked up to see the dude carrying hands of stuff. Not handfuls; just what he could comfortably hold in one hand or the other like we were moving fucking teacups or some shit. When he caught my glance he was like, “oh, there’s an art to loading stuff up so as to distribute the weight properly.” Fuck off! Hauling shit to the dump is not an art, Picasso! Just shovel it in and then shovel it out. Get a move on it.

Once it was clearly evident that I was doing 75% of the work, I decided to slow my roll and let him catch up. Unfortunately, that was a signal to him to slow down too and chat about whatever was on his mind, “these are impenetrable boots… typically I haul sofas and recliners… I used to be a real estate agent… it sure is hot out here… that trailer has a new tire on it… this has to be the biggest load I’ve ever hauled… you know who I really like? Sheryl Crow…” Holy shit, if you don’t shut up I’m going to smash this shovel into your face. I’m not paying you for the chit-chat, ass-clown!

Once we started making progress he paused for a second and said, “I bet you have something to drink inside…”

“I’m sorry?” I said, not understanding the statement.

“I bet you have something to drink inside.”

“You want something to drink???”

“Oh yeah, that’d be great. I sure am thirsty.”

What the fuck!?! “I have water…”

“Water would be great. I mean, I’d really like a Coca-cola, but I’ll take a water.”

Coca-fucking-cola??? I’d really like to kick you in the throat right now, you sawed-off piece of shit! For what I’m paying you, you should be able to have elective surgery to start pissing Coca-cola.

The nerve this little bastard had to ask me for a drink and then request something other than what I had to provide…

When it was all said and done an hour and a half later, I paid the guy and he was like, “I sure appreciate all your help; couldn’t a-done it without ya! I wish I could save you some money for your effort but I’ll tell you what – next time you need something hauled off, give me a call; I’ll make it worth your while.” Oh man, I was so furious I blew a hemorrhoid.

If that wasn’t crazy enough, while I was in he process of loading his trailer, a car drove by the house real slow like. Then it turned around and drove back, real slow again like I was about to be the victim of a drive by in broad daylight in the middle of Nashville. Eventually the car parked and some old dude got out and walked up the driveway.

He was all official looking and said, “You got a big project going on here…” I shit my pants thinking he was the building inspector coming to levy a massive fine the size of a helicopter down payment for not getting a permit to do all the work.

Then he was like, “I sold this house two weeks ago.”

WTF??? “I bought this house two weeks ago,” I said.

He looked at me like, “Huh?” So I looked back at him like, “Huh, to you!” Then I realized, he thought me and the hamster were just two low-life contractors out there working on the house.

“Well you must be the engineer then,” he finally said. I nodded. “My wife drove by the other day and saw the sink sitting in the front yard. I figured I’d stop over and see what was going on.” Hmm, that’s fucking weird.

So I showed him around. He was impressed; “it looks so much bigger in here without these walls. Wow. It’s like you’re making an old country kitchen.” Jigga what??? I don’t even know what that is. I’m making a functional kitchen, you turd wagon. Country kitchen my ass!

After all that went down I just had to sit in a chair for like 20 minutes while my brain tried to comprehend what just happened. The lasting thought that stuck with me was, “this is why I don’t interact with people.”