Friday, May 04, 2007



Yesterday I was at the County Hazardous Waste Facility. Just hanging out. Kidding! I was dropping off some gasoline and oil to be recycled. This service is only open certain hours of the week, when there's a staff member there to oversee the operation, so there often is a line of cars.

As I was in the queue, inching forward, I noticed the guy in front of me was smoking the whole time. He'd take a drag, then dangle the lit cigarette out the window. Now mind you, I've got a gallon of gasoline in the back seat, and every vehicle is transporting hazardous - probably flammable - waste of some sort. Hopefully whatever poison they're carrying is in properly sealed containers, but who knows? On either side of us are tanks and storage facilities with warnings plastered everywhere, although strangely I couldn't see any "no smoking" signs. At the drop-off point were cans, bottles, and various containers of God only knows what, stacked high. I can only imagine their combined combustibility.

At one point, the driver got out of his truck, cigarette in hand, and adjusted the slightly unstable-looking load in the back of his pickup. The wind was blowing steadily from the west at about 15 miles per hour. By my reckoning, I was east of him, and his cigarette.

Plus he had his two dogs in the front seat of the truck.

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