Check another item off our fall to-do list. The scrap metal pile in front of the driveshed is gone.

Last weekend, I borrowed my Dad’s truck, so Saturday morning Matt and I loaded it up with the TV aerial, assorted poles and pipes, an umbrella clothesline, a single tire rim, an old motor, an even older fan, buckets of rusty screws and nails and our aluminum step ladder (in the rock-paper-scissors-eque battle that is ladder-tree branch-gravity, tree branch wins with an assist from gravity, hence no more step ladder. Matt’s Dad who was on the ladder with the chainsaw is just fine… as is the chainsaw).

The trailer was busy with a load of firewood (see “chainsaw” above), so we had to put all of the metal inside the truck.

It was basically a load of crap rather than scrap, but we trundled off to a local junkyard anyway in the hopes that we could make a few bucks.

In hindsight, we should perhaps have been willing to drive a little bit further to a slightly more professional dealer.

The first clue was the sign on the front of the building.

Do you see it?

The sign on the left of the building actually looks like that–no editing. I have adjusted the sign on the top of the building to protect the guilty.

Let me get a little closer for you.

Do you see it now?

Yup. They misspelled “metal.”

There was no scale, no paperwork. We pulled into the yard, one of the workers pulled the metal–or metel–out of the truck and dumped it amongst all of the wrecked cars and basically waved us on our way.

Bye bye ladder et al.

Matt and I obliged him by pulling out of the yard, but then I stopped, parked, went into the office and said, “Ummmm, when I called you said that you guys buy metal?”

They agreed that they did buy metal. Then they wandered outside for awhile, had a couple of conversations in a language I didn’t understand and dealt with another customer. Eventually they came back and one of the men took a wad of cash out of his back pocket and peeled off a couple of bills. I reached out my hand and snagged the twenty and the ten that he reluctantly extended to me.

At this point, Matt and I decided that retreat was the best option, and we scampered out to the truck where Matt said, “Go! Drive! Just get us out of here!”

So all in all, a slightly sketchy, as well as a slightly profitable, experience. The upside: the $30 paid for the pizza we ordered for dinner that night and there’s no more unsightly metal pile in front of the driveshed. Double win!