HazMat

Cool, dry-ish (low 40s)

Today I finally fulfilled one of my long-term goals: I took a truckload of nasty old paint, finish, and unidentifiable liquid junk to the Hazardous Materials place in Oregon City. It was a scary thing, driving all this nasty stuff down the highway, with people tailing me and me thinking about all the horrors that would occur if they hit the back of my truck, but it was also very satisfying. I’ve been looking at that stuff in the Stink Shack for years now.

Sometimes, when I’m frustrated by the presence of things like rusted out paint cans and boxes of battery acid, I forget how very important this place is to people. But when I was at the “recycling center” for this stuff, I tried to explain where it had all come from, and before I said camp’s name, the lady in charge said it herself. I don’t know if she went to camp here, or has just heard of it, or if her mom went to camp here, but it was strange to think that this job—which involves getting dirty and doing menial tasks—has real meaning to some people. A lot of my friends have barely heard of this place, but a whole lot of other people have, and still care about it in a way that impresses me.