Systematic Bullying is no joke. I’m basically (not at all really) Kelly Killoren Bensimon.

19 Aug

I am being systematically bullied (thank you Kelly Killoren Bensimon) by the dump guy.

Yes. The guy that works at the dump. At first I thought it was my imagination, but after the forty thousandth time that he stormed across the transfer station, screaming at me about corrugated cardboard, I knew.

It was on. Like Donkey Kong. <—– What does that even mean?

You’re probably thinking “No you’re not. That’s impossible. You’re probably just paranoid and delusional and schizophrenic and really have a penis just like KKB.”

But I’m not. And I don’t.

Totally stable.











Last time I was at the dump (ten minutes ago) scary, aggressive dump guy was all, “Hey lady! You need to break down your damn cardboard boxes!”

And I was all (while finishing the cereal out of the box that I was supposed to be breaking down) “Dump guy, settle down dude. I am an aggressive recycler. I fully plan on breaking down the gigantic box that is just sitting in the compactor that I swear wasn’t (totally was) me. Look, I’m even wearing the baja that I got in Puerto Vallarta in 1994.”

True story. The dump guy and the baja.

The only other person in the world with a baja. I bought mine from a Mexican for like eighty bucks. This guy made his out of his mother's skin.













Dump guy was all “I see you throwing things in the wrong compactors all the time.”

I was all “You watch me recycle? That’s creepy (slash, what’s your number)?”

It went on like this for quite some time.

It ended with me all “why don’t you worry about that guy over there, dumping a freon filled refrigerator into the general trash compactor and stop harassing women with small children?” (Pointing aggressively to my wee minions in the back seat).

This seemed to really hit home with him as he flipped me off and walked away. I have no idea what I did to offend this mofo, but I tell you what. It’s a deterrent to recycle. I will forge ahead however, because I am a recycling warrior. But, this isn’t over, wearer of the orange shirt, Oakley sunglasses and mother hater. It’s only just begun and I will prevail. Oh yes. I will prevail.

I’d like to point out that he first accosted me when I was nine months pregnant (see post about why Thatcher should be my husband and how GOING TO THE GODDAMN DUMP IS MY JOB AND HOW IT MAKES ME FEEL AS A HUMAN).

I may have to file a formal complaint with LuAnn de Lesseps.

This is the Countess Speaking,

Se bon.

P.S. If you want douche chills of epic proportions, watch thirty-two seconds of this video (translation, I want to gather all of my friends and make a music video).


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