Trash picking: Part II

After more than two years of an extended "rough patch," it's nice to once in a while get a little break. It seems this summer the patron saint of garbage picking--whoever that may be--has crooked a greasy fingernail our direction and delivered upon us a second-hand blessing.
Because we are now two for two on fantastic finds in our local outings. Like the newb at the slot machines, it's just taken a little good luck to make me hunger for more information on local big trash days. Get me some more quarters, stat!
So there we were, with sun setting on big trash day in the wealthier western part of town and absolutely no time for curbside shopping. We had tickets to the Wi--Sporting KC and family obligations up til it was time to go.
Let's just take a quick turn around a couple of blocks on the way there, Mike said. We probably wouldn't find anything anyway.
Around corner one. Nothing. Corner two. Nothing. Corner three...wait, what's that?
At the end of one driveway was a pile of cushions and some wicker-looking outdoor furniture. We looked at each other. Outdoor furniture was, in fact, our only objective in this entire hunt.
I got out. The two wide chairs and settee were solid and heavy. A little bleached out, but with very few broken weaves. We could get new cushions and replace the horrible (really horrible) white wicker stuff that has been shaming our front porch the past two years.

After a brief discussion, Mike stayed behind to defend our kill from the other predators while I sped back for the big van. When I got back, he said, "We're taking the cushions, too."
And now voila! New porch furniture that makes us feel human again. Best of all, it's plastic wicker and heavy enough that it shouldn't blow off the porch like the old stuff.
Here's our old, dog-chewed stuff:
And here is the new, improved furniture, fresh from the garbage!
Who says life isn't good?

Respeck

You just get so used to the rich guys taking everything. They back their trucks up to the US Treasury to load up with your tax money. They take bonuses while their workers are getting salary cuts. They ask to take money out of your kids' school in one breath yet insist on getting tax money for their own private schools in the next.
Firefighters and teachers are dumped on in Wisconsin, the long-term unemployed are looking at no benefits at all in Arizona--over philosophical differences on the role of government, no less. If you want to be an optimist in the middle of this, the daily news will take you out to a deserted wheat field and forcibly beat the hope out of you.
That's why going to the Kansas City Wizards'--er, excuse me, Sporting Kansas City's--shiny new stadium is such a mood lifter.
Yes, it's beautiful and state-of-the-art and on par with Europe. And the seats offer a great view of the action no matter where you are. And yes, they won last night. But that's not what puts me in such a good mood.
It's something more simple and maybe even a little meaner-spirited of me than all that.
It's the fact that the priciest tickets cannot get you in to enjoy the best section of the stadium. My section. The cheap seats.
In a decision that upends the usual order of the world, the Sporting KC fans who pay the least for tickets gets some of the best advantages. The closest parking. Prime seats behind the goal. It's the first place triumphant players come to be congratulated after a well-fought match.
And---and!-we have a nice, enclosed, air-conditioned concession area close by filled with big screens. So far this season, while others are paying stadium beer prices for a Bud, we've been getting a somewhat smaller plastic cup of craft beer for $2.
Can the CEOs and fancy suits get in? No ma'am they cannot. We checked multiple times.
It goes without saying that this is the equivalent of reversing gravity in the world of American sports capitalism. Mike and I are so filled with wonder that much of our game night conversations go like this:
"Look at how far out this parking lot is. They have to ride a shuttle bus. Who parks here?"
"People who paid more than we did."
"Want a beer? It's $2! I bet all the guys behind that barrier over there wish they could have some."
"But they can't."
There is nothing like this that we can find in any other local sport. The Royals rebuilt it's stadium recently. Ask where the former "bleacher" sitters are now, and if they're bringing binoculars. But they have plenty of luxury boxes.
There are cheap seats at the T Bones. On a steep grass embankment. In the outfield. Facing the western sun. And the Chiefs? Aw hell no.
Of course we work for it. The Members area (aka the Cauldron) is what makes it a soccer event and not just an ordinary sports snooze. Members wear the colors. They stand for the whole game. They sing. They put up with big drums beaten with a sawed off piece of PVC pipe and constant flags and streamers. (Except for a little dogleg of seats facing the long edge of the pitch. Apparently this part of the Members area has not caught on about what's expected. We ended up in this section last night and were told by a lady near us that anyone who wants to stand for the game should just "go over there," pointing to the more animated area behind the posts.)
You have to give credit to On Goal. They know what a contribution the Cauldron makes to the atmosphere of the game. Without it, you'd have a bunch of people chattering amongst themselves and only cheering for the bold attack or good save. Or to do the wave. There would be no "12th man" bolstering the team when things aren't going well.
Maybe I'm naive. Maybe the Cauldron will be sold out one day and I'm a fool.
But for now, I'm enjoying the respect. And the $2 beer.
And if you're a six-figure company manager who got a bonus and free seats from your company to the match--well good for you. But you can't come in my section.
Sucka!

Dear Santa...

There's nothing like a little garbage scavenging to lift your spirits.
Friday was Big Trash night, or Curbside Christmas, as I like to call it. It's an event we look forward to eagerly every year.
We started trash when we were still making decent money--back in the heady days of the Clinton surplus and the dot.com bubble. Before there ever was an economic meltdown or a television show called American Pickers. Back then, we garbage picked because it was fun. Now, of course, we feel a little more in tune with the Joads and do it to give ourselves a treat we wouldn't normally be able to afford.
We've gotten quite a few good things over the years. A servicable, if ugly, long table. Plastic outdoor chairs. A bathroom sink with the old-fashioned brass fixtures still intact.
This year we went out with a plan to be selective. Two sons have moved out of town since last year, so we didn't have enough room for any extra stuff, no matter how fanciful or fun it may be.
Specifically, we needed outdoor patio furniture.
I should stop and say here that we have had a deck since the '80s, but we have never ever paid for outdoor furniture. The round table, chaises and chairs we have now are the same ones a friend of mine gave us when she updated her own set. In addition, we have a bunch of various plastic and metal/plastic chairs picked up from garbage nights past.
That was probably 15 or 20 years ago, though, and even though we've replaced the cushions and the umbrella, the hardware is beginning to fail. Too many plastic straps have broken. One chaise is all done and had to be tossed.
So we took to the side streets. We drove. And we drove. And for blocks...nothing.
I don't mean nothing as in not the things we were looking for. No, people were putting out real garbage this time. Rotting plywood. Tatty, moldy looking and obviously broken recliners. Sketchy plastic children's playsets.
For block after block, the only competition we had was the guys with flatbeds picking up lawnmowers and scrap metal. I became more and more glum. In my head, I began writing about how the recession has lasted so long that even the quality of the garbage has declined.
We passed a flatbed guy going over one of the more promising piles. We talked about how much further we'd go before calling it an evening.
And then...Paydirt! Three very nice deck chairs. Black metal frames with plastic straps in good shape. (The fourth one had broken seat straps. We left it for the other picker, who caught up with us just as we were loading them up.) All we have to do now is paint the metal on our table to match, and get new cushions and an umbrella (again) and our deck will no longer seem so much like a hobo camp.
As an extra plus, I opened up a horrible-looking guitar case at the same place and found inside a three-quarters sized six-string guitar in great shape. Mike put new strings on it today and it's fine. Now to learn the chords to "Brandy."
The only sour note was just before we got home. We spied a small leather (or maybe faux leather) couch that would have been a great replacement for the one in my daughter's room (which was also secured from someone's curbside). She and Mike were enthusiastic about getting it. But alas, it turned out to be a sleeper couch and they couldn't even lift it into the van, let alone get it up to the third floor. Oh well. Easy come, easy go.
So Big Trash Night becomes, once again, my favorite part of the summer. I can hardly wait for next weekend, when it's garbage night for our wealthier neighbors to the west who, presumably, can still afford to buy new.