I work in a Junkyard. Ive said recently, that its the most interesting job Ive had in years, and indeed that is true. The pay isnt that great. There are no benefits. I have one uniform which I wash devotedly each and every night.
When I applied, I sought out to show off my skills as a man who could organize,count, and account for every item that passed through my fingertips. Its a job, close to home. I walk about 3 full minutes down the hill to work.
Around the bend and through the trees, I can see, the Junkyard. Its wild, messy, intriguing, stinky, dirty, confusing, a sight most people could blink an eye at and forget.
I am terribly attracted to this amusement.
It mirrors in so many ways my own writing about the way Ive lived my life. Its perfect. Its perfect in the sense that, its exactly the way it was meant to be.
Its bound tight with locks, chains,walls of cement, steel, and haphazardly built deterrents to ward off thieves.
When I write, I pile it up much like the automobiles, my Junk. I stack it high and hope it doesnt fall. If I stack it just right, no one can really see the damage, it all just kind of blends together.
When a customer calls for a part, its sometimes chaotic locating it. The lack of controlling the inventory has been lost somewhere along the way over the years. Its quite annoying, and frustrating. Sometimes we have said"Yes, we have that part!" Only to discover we cant find it.
It reminds me of my emotions and how misplaced they often are.
I inventory a whole vehicle as it arrives in the Junkyard, sometimes 2 or 3 at a time. I photograph it, take its detailed code plate information, number it, and its swept away for later on when it will be dismantled carefully, exposing the money making parts.
Personally, when Im doing this, I frequently look at the damage closely, because inside, I want to imagine what happened? Was it a joyride on a drunken evening that led to this end? Is that blood on the windshield? Of course I think this way because, there are no accidents. Everything is perfectly woven together exactly as it is to be.
I look at these wrecks and Im in awe. Its horrendous some of the cars I see, its hard to believe anyone made it out alive. This is my Junkyard. Writing is my vehicle.
I dont always end up where I planned from the beginning, but at the very least I suppose, Im going somewhere.
I can relate my drinking to the literal Junkyard and the "other" Junkyard.
When I drink its just like neglecting to oil the engine of your car. In time, usually a short time, the signs of wear appear, and the noise begins, if youre lucky, to warn you, somethings not right. Go on have another, nothin to see here. Its not that bad, she'll keep drivin for a while, then, Ill see whats wrong, I promise.
I see a ton of wrecks come in every day, and I say, good thing Im not THAT bad. All rusty and shit. Burnt out, filled with broken parts that once were pristine and attached just where they were supposed to be. Now all bent out of shape piled up in the back seat half hangin out the back window. Its a mess.
Thats me, in my own Junkyard.
Once a car is dismantled, a list is generated and I get to work with my camera. Im an Auto Parts Paparazzi.
How perfect for an anal retentive over analytic Alcoholic.
The models have to be perfect, I inspect them closely, Id hardly feel good about a C class part.
I adjust the lighting as I want only the best features to show. Naturally, I go the extra mile and wipe off the grease, the dirt from the rim, the fog from the lens, and SNAP! Shes beautiful!
It stuns me daily of the craftsmanship from which these parts come, large and small. The investment of time, energy, imagination,physics, mechanics, all of it comes together just right.
I on occasion photograph myself, and almost everytime, its a fake face, empty,boring, as if the factory of spirituality from which I came obviously had dozens of laid off spirits. Its NEVER a good shot. Its just some crap I can put in MY Junkyard.
I much prefer to be photographed from some elses camera. Its more real.
I take the part Ive just taken full advantage of, tag it, and stuff it away in a bus, a uhaul trailer, and its mostly there to sit, just as much like some realities I dont care to look at. Talent, skill, you know, the good stuff.
We recycle ALOT of stuff in the Junkyard. Wiring, cold rolled steel, Core parts,batteries, Gasoline, Oil, all sorts of stuff. From this point the leftovers once again made to be something useful or at the very least neutralized.
It dawned on me, that I recycle too, except the stuff I put back into my life stream is not changed at all. For instance my constant self deprecating mannerisms. I recycle them allright, and as they make their way around, they gather more Junk. Where do I put all this shit?
Then a Customer arrives to trade there old 53 Packard for scrap. And I wonder, did this guy hold onto this piece of crap for all these years just for sentiment? Its all rusted out, rotted to the core, tires so dry they flake away, wheel covers so dirty theyd never be recovered. Lights broken, never to cast a beam forward again. Did his wife nag him to rid himself, or herself of this pile?
Once again, I see myself doing this daily in my life. I consider changing or trading in an old idea for a new one carefully considering the sentimental value of the Old. When my friends tell me to"let go"....Can I?
Its much like buying a new car. Man it smells good, takes a while though to get used to how it drives. Wow,how sensitive the new brakes are, how shiny and egotistical it is, its like showing off. After a while you get comfortable in it, and when you once promised you wouldnt smoke in it, PUFF!, the smoke rises again. Its never the same as new.
My main vehicle has been delicious booze. As of the past couple of years Ive tried new cars, like writing.
Booze has taken me to alot of places, good and bad, casinos, ghettos,parks, parking lots,to hospitals, to work, to jail, to beaches, to tricks' homes, to video stores to gloryholes....
In writing, I can safely leave my Junk where it belongs. I inventory it, I analyze it, I photograph it the best I can, I store it away, and finally I advertise it in the hopes someone else needs a part that Im all done using, and on occasion I recount it, to be sure its in its place.
I love my Junkyard.
