Curb Your Random Stuff

People put all kinds of wierd stuff on the curb around here, and gleefully watch it disappear. The curb is the place where things magically vanish, as though devoured by some Municipal Monster. Back in 'sconsin, when you had something you wanted to get rid of, you would either wait until Bulk Trash Pickup Day -- a scavanger's holiday -- or you would squirrel it away for use in the annual garage sale, where you could earn a cool nickel off it. In Berkeley, you can always find a steady supply of old printers, microwave ovens, chairs, magazines, kitchen supplies, you name it, on the curb.


Yesterday, I picked up a sweet cache of "Cooks Illustrated" magazines from 2002-2003. Yes! I happened to walk past the bathrobed former owner of these magazines this morning on my walk with the dog, and I thanked him. This kind of behavior is totally outside of curb etiquette: it's an anonymous endeavor, in which throwee and scavanger never come face-to-face, and there's no haggling, since it's implicitly free (although sometimes people put signs on the stuff on the curb that says "Free" just in case there was any doubt).

Things I have picked up off the curb:

• wicker basket
• Office Depot file boxes
• tennis balls (for Addison's habit)
  

Things I have gotten rid of curbside:

• record player (gone in under an hour)
  
• large poster frame (carted away by kid on skateboard within 10 minutes)
• broken tape deck (24 hours, although I almost divested myself of it after responding to a Craigslist ad -- "Wanted: broken tape deck")