When I say, "next to the landfill," I really mean exactly that. The company's land backed up to the fence that surrounded the landfill's property. One time when someone was wondering what to do with a large stack of boxes, I joked that they should just toss them over the fence.
Needless, to say, that didn't go over so well.
During my last few months of employment with this company, the landfill was told by officers of the EPA that they needed to do something about the large number of birds that were feeding on the trash there. Their plan of attack involved shooting fireworks at the birds in an attempt to scare them off. It worked so well that all of the birds flew away from the landfill and landed on the closest possible surface area, which happened to be my company's rooftop.
Hundreds of birds gathered on the roof every day. My coworkers and I on the second floor could hear them walking around through the ceiling above our heads. In the middle of the afternoon, the light in the service bays would dim with an eerie sense of foreboding as birds covered the skylights and blocked out the sun. We couldn't walk outside to our cars without having to dodge huge streams of bird poop. Our cars and the parking lot were covered with it, along with hundreds of ratty, gray and white feathers.
My boss's solution was to install an large air horn on the roof of our building. When the guys in the shop noticed a lot of birds on the roof, they blew the horn. All day long, we would hear the sound of fireworks being set off at the landfill followed by the deafening sound of the air horn. The birds flew back and forth all day and I imagined that when everyone left around 5 pm, they would just hang out on our roof, smug and unbothered, until the next morning.
The rain gutters of our building started to spit out large amounts of wet, clumped feathers and one time I even saw the chewed-up bones of some long-dead animal washed out on to the pavement in front of the building after a particularly violent rain storm the night before.
After a few weeks of this, the birds seemed to grew used to the fireworks and the landfill workers had to take more aggressive action. They were given the okay to start using shotguns to shoot flares and to even shoot at the birds with small handguns. Like dwellers in the most violent of inner-city projects, we grew so used to the constant barrage of gunshots that we hardly noticed it any longer. The only time we did was when visitors brought it to our attention. "Oh yeah," we'd say, "about that..."
Here's an article from the Star News regarding the bird problem at the New Hanover County landfill.