This was the result of various conversations about my childhood tech job boss Byron being bossed around by who? I can’t exactly remember. Probably his wife. I certainly didn’t boss him around. I “worked around him”. It was okay. He allowed me to do that. We had a silent “arrangement.” I would “run” the office and handle all the problems while he hung out in his car in the parking lot.

That only went on for a while, when he was going through some sort of difficult period. I know not what. But I always handled most of the problems anyway, at least the technical stuff. Like, what does that error message mean? It means you left this column in this row blank when you filled out your input data sheet. Or whatever. Garbage in, garbage out. BOMB! When I first worked there, I didn’t get a lot of respect, being a blonde woman with no tech experience. I had to earn respect and I did. My paycheck there never quite measured up…

It took a while for my beach urchin to process what little discussion the GG and I had about this “boss” discussion. The GG worked at the same place I did but did not have the same boss as me. But she is a smart cookie and she got it PDQ.

So, this is one of a series of pics of my parents taking the garbage up to the top of the two-track road the night before garbage pickup. It was a Procedure and everything had to be packaged into Blue Bags into the parents’ can. Even though they did it every week, the air turned blue every darn time. I posted a series of pics (including this one) on my blahg and my brother guest blahgged this:

Since the majority of readers of this here blog are at least semi-centurians or well beyond, I thought a young whipper-snapper’s perspective might be worth it. It isn’t so bad being less than 50 (or 80 for that matter). You learn to live with it. Perhaps the best thing about being on the tail-end of a generation is that you can at least see what is coming your way. I can hardly wait to argue about blue garbage bags in the year 2037!! Maybe they will be yellow by then and we can turn the air yellow instead of blue to match the bags (go ahead, expand that thought in your imagination).

Alas, my brother didn’t live long enough to reach the GREEN BAG era (and we never had the yellow bag era). Instead of bagging up garbage and driving it up to the top of the cabin road on a designated day, we now buy Green Bags at various tribal businesses. When we fill up a green bag (or two), we drive up to the res and a friendly attendant comes out, takes our bag(s) out of the trunk, and puts them in the hopper.

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