Monday, July 21, 2014

The trash picking controversy...

I have a problem with trash pickers.  I know that many people see them as helpful, as they come tooling through a neighborhood on bulk trash day and sift through peoples' cast offs to see if there's anything they want or need.  I know that if they can take something out of peoples' trash heaps, they might be keeping it out of the landfill.  That's all fine and good.  I still hate seeing them brazenly going through my stuff, especially when we've already had people trying to get at the key in the lockbox and people casing the house.

Last night, Bill and his mom put a bunch of stuff out for the bulk trash pickup.  I haven't seen the trash pickers come yet.  I'm sure they'll get here before the city does to pick up the junk.  If I don't see them going through the stuff, it probably won't bother me so much.  But since I have a desk next to the window which overlooks the street, I can see when they pull up.  I told Bill about why I don't like trash pickers.  He and his mom seemed to think I was being a little unreasonable.  But then I brought up identity theft and how people rifling through trash can lead to that.  I also brought up how trash pickers can make messes when they don't put things back neatly.  They also take stuff that could be recycled by the city for cash.

I've got no problem with donating stuff to charities.  I do that all the time.  I just don't like it when people scavenge, even though I know why they do it and I know most people don't mind it.  It just feels like an invasion.  It's one of my many hangups.

Poor Bill got yelled at last night because he was looking at me like I was being nutty, which I probably was.  He was more empathetic when I explained myself more.  For much of my life, people have told me that no one really cares what I think.  So now, when people act like my opinion is crazy or doesn't matter, it provokes a vehement response.  Fortunately, Bill is understanding about my idiosyncrasies.

In other news…

Alexis, I had a dream that you and I performed together.  Or actually, we were planning to perform together.  I never did learn the song, though, and was nervous because I knew I was going to screw it up.  I woke up before I was able to make a fool of myself.

In other other news…

This week, things are going to get inconvenient.  We will probably lose our cars as they head toward Germany.  Friday, the beds, the TVs, kitchen stuff, and my computer will go.  Next Monday, we will lose the other guest room because a charity is going to take our furniture from there.  Then next Wednesday, everything else is going into storage.

This is when moving starts to get really shitty.


The JWs stopped by with a tract and asked about our stuff on the curb.  Bill told them it was trash.  Minutes later, a bunch of people came over and made off with everything but our old Christmas tree.  I am less annoyed with them because at least they asked if it was okay.


  1. It sounds a lot like camping without any of the rustic charm -- sort of the way the Dust bowl settlers in California lived. all i really know about it is what I remember from "The Grapes of Wrath," but in any event, I don't envy you.

    The song we performed was probably a Carpenters' song, or maybe "The Moon is a Harsh Mistress" by Jimmy Webb.

    We only have bluk trash pick-up once a year here, i think. Some people set piles out separate from their other stuff and put"Take if you please" sign on those piles. People get angry because of ID theft when the scavengers get into anything not specifically maked as available. if the police aren't busy, they'll deal with it, but it has to take a back set to real crime.

    1. Our neighbor ripped off my old desk chair, which Bill had inherited last year. The hydraulic is messed up on it and it was giving Bill a backache. I guess I don't really care that they have it, though it was weird watching them take it and seeing it parked in their garage as we passed by on our way to buy my new laptop.

      I don't like seeing people go through my stuff. I think it stems from my years in the Peace Corps. One time, I threw out a bunch of letters and cards people had sent me and went out. When I came back, I found them strewn all around the dumpster. No harm came of it, but it still felt like a violation... like people were waiting for me to throw something out so they could scavenge it. Gave me an icky feeling.


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