Junkyards

Junkyards are interesting places. The first thing that came to mind when I visited the three junkyards this week, was astonishment at the sheer number of trashed cars. I could see a couple or few dozen cars scattered around in various states of destruction: from smashed fenders that looked like the car could be repaired rather than trashed, to twisted and torn and shattered pieces of metal only barely recognizable as a car.

And this collection of destruction was just the vehicles that hadn’t yet been crushed and moved on. Some of these vehicles were late models, and even the older cars were less than maybe 10 years old. When I think of junkyards, I think of old derelict vehicles, but the reality is much younger. Some of these trashed cars look like they may have come off the dealer’s lot recently.

Looking at the devastated vehicles, I wondered how many people died in the wreckage. A few of the cars had wholes in the windshield above the steering wheel, and I could picture an unbelted driver smashing through it. Some of the cars were smashed in on the driver’s side door, and some had a collapsed roof—these had to be fatal collisions for the drivers. If ghosts and hauntings are real, I would figure that junkyards would be as probable a location as any graveyard.

There are so many interesting things to note about the junkyards I went to that I could make a week’s worth of posts relating them: the stacks of car doors, the scattered engines blocks, the ground piles of various parts and pieces, and the occasional car cab stuffed full of random junk.

And then there are the people working at the junkyards.

At one place we dealt with a young woman and her mother. Neither woman looked like a “junkyard” type, and in fact, the young woman was surprisingly attractive and clean to be found at such a place.

The next place was staffed by a bunch of skinny young guys. None of them were dirty, although the ones out in the yard showed signs of sweat from working in the hot afternoon sun. Every guy we talked with, there, was helpful and friendly.

Then there was the last place we visited. It was a bunch of obese, older guys who just pointed a finger and told us to go look for the part we needed. Although these guys more fit the preconception I had in my mind of junkyard workers, they turned out to be the more unusual team from what we had seen that day.

If I were twenty years younger, I might have asked the “junkyard girl” out on a date. If I had a 20 year old daughter, I wouldn’t have minded if one of the “junkyard boys” had asked her out on a date. But the “junkyard men”? Not so likely for either option.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com