Today, in my capacity as Operations Manager of Viking Princess Construction I patronized the San Francisco Dump. It turned out to be a day full of feathers in my cap.
First, my mother, who was along as baby entertainer, was impressed that I knew a direct route across town from baby swimming lessons to the dump. It's through neighborhoods we don't often traverse.
Upon weigh-in, I was greeted by "J" who just said "San Francisco, right?" (You have to declare where your junk originates). In the past he has commented "third time this week, huh?"
I backed into my stall. No-one waved me in like they do for the women and rookies. By the way, you don't dump your junk into an actual hole in the ground. You dump it into a building, and it gets whisked away. They call it "clearing the decks."
Then taciturn dump employee "L" jumped into the back of the truck and helped me pitch the debris onto the pile. He has helped me several times before and gave me a mask on a particularly dusty day. He showed me how to unload just enough stuff, and then yank the tarp lining the truck to dump the rest. Since then I always put a tarp down. I think he noticed.
Finally, I weighed out and, according the the new rule as of September 1, 2007, presented my i.d. with my credit card. The cashier, "F", said "you don't need to show me your i.d. You are what we call a regular customer." A very proud moment, indeed.