Pappy Crap

    
       As I count down the days before I make the big move to little Panama, I have two focuses: 

A:) Making sure all the paperwork is in place for getting my dog, Betty, into Panama, and

2:) Finding new homes for my old things 

Financing the trip was easy.  Coming up with the money quickly was simply a matter of breaking into my neighbor's house while they were away camping, stealing the only weapon I could find, and holding up a Plaid Pantry.  I was surprised what kind of fear a slingshot and a child's Darth Vader mask can induce in a slightly stoned clerk.

       Buying tickets on-line was a breeze as well.  Of course, I had limited funds (Cashier Deposits Cash Regularly), so in order to save a few dollars I had to make some concessions.  Did you know there is a cheaper, more uncomfortable way to fly than "Coach"?  It's called "Stowaway", and though it

is a bit cramped (and very cold), you can rummage through other "Paying" passenger's luggage for something warm to wear, and do it at your leisure.  At least until they catch you.

Anyway, there really isn't that much paperwork involved in the exportation and importation of a pet from one country to another.  First, I had my doctor sign a form stating that Betty was my emotional support and critical to my well being.  This allows her to ride on my lap while in the landing gear compartment during the flight. This also

gives us the advantage of being the first to depart the aircraft upon arrival. 

       The problems arise, not from the amount of paperwork, rather the interpretation of the paperwork.  The part written in Spanish was easy to figure out with the help of a simple translator found on line. But, trying to get help figuring out what in heck the Americans want is nearly improbable!  I actually went down to the local USDA office as I was instructed to do on "a website", only to find that nobody knew what I was talking about. Hell, I can get that reaction anywhere.

Finally, after minutes waiting in an empty lobby, a woman with one of those "did you get separated from the group?" smiles, convinced me that I was not as articulate as I had once believed, and gently (out of fear I'm guessing) coerced the correct question out of me. It seems I was asking for the "aphid" representative, instead of the "APHIS" representative.  It turns out that one of them is a bug. Okay "USDA", I'm not an Enternlogisist!

But, the guy from APHIS (Animal and Plant Health Inspection Something) is not there very often and won't be in until Monday, and "would I please call first" before I returned.  I'll admit it here, in front of both of my readers, that I was getting a little peeved.  Why is it my burden to remember to call first? Especially when Monday was  four whole days away?

What is wrong with our system? Is this what our founding fathers had in mind? Black lives matter!  No, All lives are matter!

Anyhow, I forgot to call on Monday.  But to my credit, I forgot to go there as well.  No worries.  I'll try again today - everyone works on "Labor Day", right?  NO?  Well, then why do they call it Labor Day!?  Stupid Rules. 

Still, there is no time for me to sit around steaming about government red tape (if there was I'd never get to Panama), I've got other things to do, like get rid of my stuff. 

I considered having a garage sale to earn enough money for passage in the "cabin" of the airplane, but the thought of pricing, and moving, and haggling, and sitting in a lawn chair at eight in the morning, was too daunting.  So, I decided to take the high road, and give my things away instead.

       Here, I would like to warn future ex-patriots about giving your most valued treasures away.  Nobody wants them.  It is just more crap to add to the ever increasing piles of crap that everyone already has. You know - the perfect lamp you found on the side of the road?  The one that the universe placed right in front of you, when you were walking to the Goodwill to (OMG!) find a lamp?  Yeah, nobody wants it.  They have three of them in storage - each with a special story, and each one destined for the Goodwill.

       I have things I have moved around for years, carefully tossing them in boxes full of other things - precious things - things that even my guilt ridden children don't want.

     So, I thought I'd do the charitable thing; fill my car with "donations" and drop them off at one of the classic Goodwill trailers.

(Think about it)

  When I arrived, no one was there and the trailer was locked up. There were baby swings, and furniture, and boxes of clothes, and computers, and golf clubs, and special lamps, all neatly piled around it, but no one in sight.  I found a torn "I'll be back at" sign leaning against the double trailer doors. Then some

random guy riding a bicycle around the parking lot pulled up.  "He's at lunch", he said, as he made a circle.  On his way back by he said, "He's probably eating over there", pointing toward a pizza place.  

Being the mellow fellow that I wish I were, I decided to spend a few dollars and treat myself to lunch, while I waited to give my things away.  

       Twelve dollars later, I returned to the trailer, just in time to hear the attendant,

explaining loudly to another hapless donator, that "we don't want your junk!"  The poor man slunk back to his Subaru Wagon, embarrassed and ashamed.

       I wanted to run, but I wanted to do my civic duty even more.  As I unlocked the back of my car the attendant walk over shaking his head.

       "People think this is a garbage dump, you know? Like, they can just bring their crap here and we'll haul it to the dump for 'em.  Look at this!"  he said nodding at the items in the parking lot, "Every morning when I get here, there are

piles of crap, just dumped here, crap that I have to pick up and organize.  It's like I am their personal slave who has nothing better to do with my time than pick up their crap!"  I tried to look empathetic.

"Where am I supposed to put all this crap, huh? C'mon!  Thank god I only have to do this crap three days a week!" he said.

I chuckled nervously, wanting to break the tension.

"I bet you won't volunteer for this job next time, huh?"

He looked at me like I had three nostrils.

"Oh, I'm gettin' paid for this.  You bet yer ass, I'm gettin' paid.  Volunteer?  Are you kidding?  Come over here." he said walking away.  I hesitated, closing my tailgate.

"No! come here!  Look at this, the trailer is full.  Where am I supposed to put all this crap?"  

I followed him out of terror.  He was right.  The trailer was as full as it could be, in fact the bags on the end were threatening to tumble off the mountain and crush whom ever was unlucky enough to be around. 

Then he turned, looked at me, then looked at my car.

"Well?" he grunted, Whadda ya got?" 


 I swallowed hard and with a sheepish grin said,  "Do you take lamps?"


My point is this;

One man's treasure is another man's pain in the ass.  Americans have so much crap, that we can't even give things away.  We work all our lives (well, some of you do), in order to accumulate things.  Things which please us one day, and turn to crap the next.  So you put your crap on the sidewalk, where somebody picks it up on the way to the Goodwill.  Of course, it saves you both a trip to the Goodwill, which believe me, is getting more and more frightening. 

I'll be glad to be down in beautiful Panama soon, where at least you find real trash on the sidewalk.  Not this fancy crap.  Crappity Crap Crap.       Crap.

"Thanks for listening" 

DP