Rather than being discarded without any hope of reclamation, items are placed out on the curbs and lawns for all to see and browse on Junk Day — or as the City of Austin calls it, Bulky Item Pick-up (see sidebar). As the arrows on the universal symbol for recycling go ’round and ’round, so go many of the items see on Junk Day. We have items in our house — chairs, tables, bookshelves, etc., which we retrieved in years past from others’ junk piles. When we tire of them, we await Junk Day and place them in our heap. Before the city has a chance to swoop down and take them for trash, they are picked up by a friend, neighbor, or total stranger and put to use. They then hold onto it until they tire of it and the cycle is repeated. When a relic is wrecked beyond repair or can no longer stand under its own weight, it meets its inevitable end and is left, like a lone shoe, for trash.
The quality of junk varies from neighborhood to neighborhood. In our neighborhood we often see items which we saw in last year’s roundup but in front of a different house. Also we see items which need a bit of work or a few screws. We see piles, too, more than we care to, of nothing more than true unsalvageable trash — the untouchables — stuff worn beyond recognition and rejuvenation from years on weathered porches, crumbled outbuildings, or forgotten corners of the yard.
The more upscale neighborhoods hold a different cache. Barely skimming the edges of the beautifully manicured lawns lie neat piles, which hold quite usable feasts. Tables with a few nicks, chairs with nothing more problematic than a torn seat, and easy-to-repair lamps, merely in need of a new plug, are tossed like yesterday’s news. And less obvious in their worth, but useful nonetheless, are the 2x6s left over from projects abandoned long ago, stacks of bricks remaining from a recent renovation, or small remnants of roofing. Free to a good home — yours, mine, and ours for the picking.
Junk Day benefits all involved and discriminates against no one. For the disposer it is a way to get rid of unsightly clutter. For the picker it is an afternoon of fun intertwined with the possibility of a treasure trove. For the city it is an opportunity to provide a much-needed service to the community. Without a doubt, it’s a win-win-win situation.
Not Everyone Celebrates Junk Day
Not long ago my husband and I were attempting to build a back porch onto our tiny rental house. Our lack of funds and inclination toward all things secondhand meant that we were using mostly found and scavenged supplies. Thanks to a recent Junk Day and the many folks in various phases of renovation, we accumulated quite the mass of discarded materials. What screens and hardware we were unable to scrounge we found at Habitat for Humanity’s ReStore of used building materials — an incredible place for the short of cash, the environmentally sensitive, the inventive builder, or the curious curio chaser.
We were quite a few boards short of a floor (no jokes, please) when, from the vantage point of our bicycles on a bridge, we spotted a Dumpster behind a hotel filled to the brim with a slew of 2x6s, 2x4s, and even the much-coveted 2x12s. We swooped down, like blue jays on a cat, to rescue the wood from its impending landfill doom.
My husband loaded several boards delicately onto his bike, balancing one end on the milk crate and the other on the handlebars. Precarious maybe, but the years spent without a car had made the two of us quite adept at bicycle balancing acts. As he loaded, we heard a bellow from behind, “Hey you! Get out of there; that’s private property!”
Craning to see what all the commotion was about, we realized that we were the focus of the shouting. The shouter was an uptight, rotund rent-a-cop, not unlike Seinfeld’s unpleasant nemesis Newman; he was headed straight for us. Somewhat out of breath from his 25-yard trek, he snarled, “Yeah, you. That’s private property. You can’t take anything from there. Put the boards back and get out of here.”
“But it’s garbage. They’re throwing it out. If anything, they should be happy I’m taking it. They’ll have space in the Dumpster for more stuff and they won’t be filling up the dump.”
Back and forth they went — my husband pleading with the man to see the absurdity of the situation and the rent-a-cop barking about insurance and liability. We did scram but not without the sacred eight-foot 2×12 in tow. We pedaled away furiously and furious at the thought of our beautiful porch floor being crushed to bits by a sanitation truck.
Eventually our porch floor was completed, as were, over the years, a studio, shed, washateria, and studio addition. Each project was built primarily with scavenged goods but not without much foiling of our Dumpster-diving efforts by a variety of security guards and shiny barbed fences.
Over the years, we have managed to get a few pieces out of Dumpsters here and there but not without some risk of life, limb, and personal freedom. Every now and again we encounter a sympathetic Dumpster driver who lets us pick a couple of things out before hauling it all away — sympathetic to us and to the rapidly filling landfills. In the name of true recycling, they let us in to forage.
At a nearby state institution, which has been undergoing major renovation, the garbage pile is continuously rekindled. I inquired about the possibility of sorting through this mountain of desks, chairs, and other such useful items. I was told, in no uncertain terms, no way. I begged and pleaded and begged some more, even put on a voice of subserviency in dealing with the “little-lady”-spewing man-in-charge. The fact remained: I could not have those items that were being thrown away. And, to add insult to injury, my tax dollars were going to be used to dispose of those very same items that my tax dollars were used to purchase not so very long ago. I was told quite sternly that any items removed from there would be removed under penalty of law. Having already seen the penalty of law in this town, I found myself less willing to take the risk.
Waste Not, Want
In a perfect world, or at least a less litigious one, I could climb in those Dumpsters to my heart’s content. In the world we’re in, we need a new system. While the blue buckets we so diligently place on the curb each week begin to address the problem of waste, they are not the solution.
How about a “halfway dump”? Building materials, furniture, and any other large, useful items would have to reside there for a predesignated period of time before being permitted into that final resting place known as the city dump. Heck, the city could even charge a cover and draft up a liability disclaimer so as not to risk being sued. They could bill it as “a place for the whole family.” Just picture it: Sis gathers pieces for a science project, Junior amasses parts for his go-cart, and Mom cleverly makes sculpture with odd pieces, while Dad scavenges lumber for a new kitchen shelf.
Now that we have our own family, we are carrying on the tradition of piling in the pickup truck for a family Junk Day romp. As each Junk Day approaches I feel a familiar euphoria — an anticipation rooted deep in my history, maybe even in my genetic code. But imagine a halfway dump, where we could go all the time, all year long for our scavenging needs. A place that promised the pleasures of a perpetual Junk Day. We wouldn’t need to wait for this Junk Day; rather, it would always be there, ready and waiting for us — a place where people could gather resources and use their creativity to save the landfills for actual garbage.
Oh yes, in a perfect world.
This article appears in April 23 • 1999 and April 23 • 1999 (Cover).