Beyond Abundance
By Charles E. Kraus
Lately I've noticed a new look to the old neighborhood. Actually, I'm talking about many stable, middle class, even upper middle class neighborhoods. Well kept lawns and late model cars in the driveways. What's new? The discards sitting at the curb with their hand-written little signs resting on top of the piles. Free, they says. Take it. Please take it. Furniture, appliances, portable basketball hoops, boxes of books, artwork, bicycles, ski racks -- expensive artifacts from the preceding decade.
We've obviously gone beyond the saturation point, crossed the too much stuff line. We the enthusiastic consumers have passed the demarcation for manageable levels of abundance.
Abundance has become a burden. Poor little us.
I've personally put a few goodies out there just beyond our lawn: An ancient (can something be ancient if it's 10 years old?) desktop computer, a television, remember televisions? DVDs, two obsolete intercoms, a little staticky, but functional. Record albums, remember LPs? Johnny Mathis, Johnny Cash and Johnny Rivers. Johnny was once a very popular name. Hey, these things cost me a fortune, and I'm offering them to you for absolutely nothing!
I was going to place my discards on Craigslist. A few bucks for this or that. But a moments calculation convinced me it wasn't worth my time. You have to figure out Craig's procedures, then, of course, it is best to take photographs of what you're offering and transfer the pictures from "saved photos" to .... it's involved. After the listing goes "live," you end up counseling people who want directions to your house. Some of the callers sound, well ... not exactly stable. I think I'm done with Craigslist.
Another approach is/was to cart castoffs to the Goodwill. Load the Kia, drive a few miles. Not so bad, except these days a line of cars seems permanently backed up along the street waiting for a chance to pull in and have donations scrutinized. Goodwill doesn't take everything, you know. I didn't know, and last time, after waiting for about twenty minute, I reached the unload your castoffs area only to discover pillows weren't accepted. Also, the pristine, thick to the point of ludicrous, glass shelves that used to be on the bookcase that we are repurposing. It is now sort of a desk. They were rejected. I tried to figure out a way to hide the toilet set under some carpeting, but neither was green lighted. Strangely, Goodwill takes used underwear.
The trash collection people are reasonably tolerant of whatever fits into the pail. But not entirely. They have their eyes out for hazardous waste. I have a dozen perfectly useable fluorescent light tubes that are on Republic Services' no-way list. They are destine for the Household Hazardous Waste Facility. Some day.
Discards. For me, the word used to conjure up dilapidated abandoned vehicles left on the side of the highway. They were rusty. Various components had been removed by people in need of various components. Times have changed for the consumer generation(s) . We have so many perfectly good but no longer wanted treasures, we are encumbered by our good fortune.
