The Blustery Day (and the Death of Harry Benoit)

Windy days are always a treat on garbage detail. On one hand, if you luck out and get the leeward side of the parking lot, it’s an easy day for you. The garbage becomes someone else’s problem. But if you get the fence line in the path of a hurricane; I feel for you, brother.

Just take your time. You’ll be awhile.

On one such day blustery day I found myself chasing a sales flyer blowing across the lot. Actually, it wasn’t even my garbage. It began its day on the other side of the plaza (on Yo-Yo’s turf) and at about 5:10 a.m. it was scooped up into Yo-Yo’s bag.

At 5:11 it danced its way out of his bag and headed my way.

“YO, PIZZA DUDE!”

I looked Yo-Yo’s way to see the flyer drop out of the sky at my feet. A quick flick of my broom brought it to the edge of my bag, but then the winds swirled and it was gone once again

For the next three minutes I chased that flyer all across the parking lot. I caught it five times during that time. Three times I cornered it, only to lose it to the winds before I could stuff it home. Twice I made successful captures, only to have the flyer take a flyer and catch an updraft – while in my bag, for God’s sakes – and escape to freedom once again.

Finally, at the edge of the parking lot, I trapped the flyer before it could make its final bid for freedom into the neighbouring subdivision. With Yo-Yo coming along the front of the plaza and Eddie arriving to meet me from the boulevard, I proudly displayed my catch.

The flyer, with the help of another gust of hurricane winds, took that opportunity to snatch victory from my hands. In the second I took to raise my broom in premature triumph, it was gone: thirty feet up and heading south towards the back of the plaza.

“No worries, Pizza Dude,” says Eddie. “I’m headed that way. I’ll get it.”

“Sonovabitch,” was all I could muster.

Yo-Yo and I then spent a few minutes picking up what garbage we could catch in the south parking lot and waited for Eddie’s return.

After about five minutes, there was no sign of him, and we waited for Jacques to come by with the truck. Maybe there was a ton of trash back there and Eddie, who wasn’t the most motivated worker at the best of time, needed our help.

Then, just as the truck pulled up, we heard his voice from behind the building.

“Holy shit!”

This wasn’t a “I just found a twenty dollar bill” kind of shout, nor was it a “there’s crap everywhere, come give me a hand, ya lazy bastards,” kind of thing.” This sounded serious.

We left our bags and the garbage behind and raced around to the back of the plaza. As soon as we got there I knew that our lives would soon change dramatically. Especially Eddie’s.

He had found a body. A dead one. It was Harry Benoit.