It's a bit cooler in the summer...
So we started working nights to find out how the trash came to be. And it’s a sad tale.
Working nights in August in cool metal boxes is better than working days in hot metal boxes. We spent hours assembling shelves I’d purchased from an Elder Beerman going out of business, and stringing lights.
If we see headlights scan over the entrance, we’d go investigate. We had few encounters, but most of the time they’d leave if they saw us coming.
One time I got out to take pictures of a car that had been parking overnight. The driver stepped out.
“Why are you taking pictures?” He said.
“We’ve had a problem with people parking here and leaving trash” I replied.
He started coming closer to me. He was a big guy with serious tattoos. “I’m homeless and have been sleeping here. You got a problem?”
I stuck my hand out to shake his. I said “I’m George.”
“I’m Bill, you got a problem?” he said.
“I’m a mushroom farmer and I have to spend my mornings picking up trash people keep leaving. I had to put up cameras it’s so bad. I understand homelessness is serious issue. If you ever need any food come by the farm when we’re open and we’ll help you out. Just please if you see anybody leaving trash, please tell them not to.” I said.
“Ok. Just don’t be callin’ the cops.” He said.
We didn’t have problems with trash for a while after that. I’d wave to Bill as I drove by in the mornings and in the nights.