A Matter of Routine

Every Thursday night, we troop through the house and gather up all the trash and the many versions of recyclable materials to go outside into assorted "cans" although everything is plastic now, not metal. Regardless, when all the junk has been loaded into the appropriate receptacle, it is placed by the curb for the assigned truck's pick up the following (Friday) morning.


That's when the seemingly choreographed "dumpster diving" begins. You always see the same characters each week, some walking, some on bikes, some even in cars, trolling through the neighborhood trash. Maybe it's just me but in the last few months, it has seemed to take on a more cutthroat nature. Perhaps it's the desperation I see in the movements of those participating in it and the way they rush from can to can. It's beginning to feel like a real life version of musical chairs although the loser doesn't get any money for food in this version.

OK, let's be honest. Are they really using the money for food or is it for alcohol or for drugs? Many of them, although not all, appear to be street people. This makes me wonder how many miles of blocks they cover to get what they get and for the one who follows all the others, does he or she end up with nothing? It almost makes you want to stage stashing your trash so you have enough for everyone. I've never really thought about some of these folks planting themselves down the block just watching and waiting for the cans to come out but I'm sure some of them probably do.


You have to wonder just how many will be joining them before this economy finds its feet again. I know there's at least one additional wave of dislodging coming. It will mean more people to pound the weary pavement with no results. It's hard to find encouraging things to say anymore. I guess creative, resourceful independence is the key hence making something out of nothing. I just know I'm no good at that.


If I joined "the line" the good news would be I could blog as much as I wanted. Hm, not worth it, no matter how much I dislike my job. The thought of rooting around in a hot, stinky can for my next meal isn't something I'm going to rush to try. I'll take the easy way out and watch from afar and perhaps provide a little more than I would have for those who have no choices left.