Helpful Hints from a Compulsive Scavenger

They say the first step is admitting you have a problem.

Hi. My name is Shelley and I’m a compulsive scavenger.

I’m not talking about digging through strangers’ trash bins or diving in dumpsters. I don’t do that.

But piles of books, small kitchen appliances or furniture left on the curb with the word “free” scrawled on typing paper and taped to them?

I can’t help myself.

I’ve tried to explain to friends and family who don’t live in college towns exactly what it’s like to drive through Davis in late August and early September. College graduates who’ve made Davis home for the past four or six or eight years are making a mass exodus as summer ends and their leases expire.

Bright-eyed, full of hope, diplomas in hand, they are ready to move on to the next exciting chapter in their lives. Ideally, that next chapter will not include most of the baggage they acquired over their academic career. I mean, who wants to move forward into a bright, shiny future lugging a greasy, chili-splattered microwave oven? Who wants to enter adulthood with packs of Pokémon cards, boxes of leftover purple hair dye and One Direction posters?

It is impossible to drive through any student neighborhood in Davis without encountering heaps of abandoned household goods, knickknacks and memorabilia. And while most of it is junk, if you’re brave, you will inevitably happen upon treasures that still have life and value in them. Among the tattered mattresses and grimy kitchen appliances, you might find a new Keurig, still in the box, or a sturdy leather footstool. Or a solid oak dining table in perfect condition. Recently, I came home with a wicker settee, a patio table and four chairs, a child-size toy tractor with pedals and a horn, a high-quality, newly upholstered club chair and a darling kitchen table that was actually scavenged by someone else and then gifted to me.

I do have rules – standards – that guide me as I pick through the remnants.  My discernment is comforting to my husband, Bob, upon hearing my rules, commented, “You’re sorta crazy but not really crazy.”

·      Do not delve into garbage bags. I get that mystery grab bags are fun and mysterious, but let’s be honest, if it’s in a garbage bag, it’s probably garbage.

·      Do not pick up mattresses. Metal bed frames? Sure. Box springs? Probably fine. Mattresses? Absolutely not. Don’t make me explain.

·      Use your senses. Not just your common sense but, literally, your five senses. Actually, only four senses are necessary. Your tongue should probably never touch anything free and left on a street corner. No, not even if it’s food. Especially not if it’s food.

But regarding your remaining senses, does it smell like mold or beer? Leave it. Do you see rips or stains or cracks? Keep moving. Does it feel wet, damp or, God forbid, moist? It’s not for you. Do you hear rustling, squeaking or hissing noises from under the sofa cushion? Run.

·      Make sure the items you are loading into your car or truck are actually free and meant to be given away. If there are people moving the items into a moving truck, they are probably not free. If the items are on someone’s porch, sealed in an Amazon box, they’re probably not up for grabs either.

·      If someone else is picking through the same pile as you and decides they want the same item you want, let them have it. Be gracious. There is no need for conflict. You’ve lived a long, happy life without that end table/lamp/blender. If a 21-year-old first-time-apartment-dweller walks away with it instead of you, you’ll be okay.

Now, you might be wondering, what do I do with all this stuff that I collect. Well, I’m not here to toot my own horn and I don’t consider myself to be all that benevolent, but I give it away. Yep. I share the wealth. Recently, I’ve furnished much of a college student’s first apartment, provided two chairs and the child’s tractor to a friend and gifted books to my neighbors. If I see something I think you’ll like or need, I’ll load it up and deliver it to your front door. Even if you didn’t ask for it and even if you didn’t know you needed it. No need to thank me.

I need to go now. Someone just sent me an article titled “I Don’t Want Your Free Stuff” and I promised I would read it. It’s probably going to hurt my feelings, but I’m guessing that reading it will be the necessary second step in the recovery my friends and family so desperately hope for me.