Page One

The flier said “in seven days”… I felt the excitement of the seventh-day itch. The six other itches intensified my state of utter turbulence. I was a little out of control, moving around my attic and basement creating more storage space. I dreamed of a warehouse, or an abandoned lot. 

I needed to explain my change in behavior to Martine, my very square guest from Buenos Aires, whom I was hosting on various local travels. I also wanted an accomplice. It makes life easier in the crime world. There’s a greater adrenaline rush when two bodies and minds are working on covert strategies and maneuvers. 

I showed Martine the brochure, when it came through the mail slot. It blared broadly across the top: 

2001 CITY OF BERKELEY  

ANNUAL CLEAN UP 

REUSABLE ITEM & BULKY WASTE PICKUP 

I didn’t know which word I liked the best. Was it “CLEAN UP” or “BULKY”? Somehow the words sounded like poetry to me. I felt a bulky, cleanup song spill out from my heart. Yes! this wonderful, glorious, generous, bountiful city would clean itself up in a most unique and fanciful way.  

Martine did not know what the heck I was talking about. But, he was my guest. If this was a tourist attraction, he was ready to partake.  

We prepared. We would take my car and his rental. We would approach the scene of the crime after the last rays of sun passed the Lawrence Labs. We would dress for BULKY – sure grip gardening gloves and rope and bungy cords around our waists. I dug out two high-powered flashlights from my earthquake kit. Too bad my neighbors did not list the items they were discarding. The hunting required discernment.  

We started out from College Avenue heading east on Webster Street. The blessing of the traffic barrier by the Elmwood Post Office permitted us to drive side by side. Martine’s territory was the south side of the street. I focused on the north. We would roll down our windows and discuss questionable items. 

Martine beamed his flashlight on a mundane white box. 

Que te parece la Chia Pet kit? Que es? 

That’s non-bulky waste! Forget that! Look at the cross-country skis up the street. Now that’s what I call reusable. Grab those, and throw them in. 

Look at that Thule shell. Let’s try to get THAT on top of the car. Martine can you give me a hand?  

Martine threw the gears into park, popped out, and ran over to help me lift the heavy shell, great for all the stuff I’d ever want to bring on car trips. As we were strapping down the last corner, the owner came storming out of his house hollering, “Hey buddy! That’s the Thule I just picked up on Oakvale! Get your own junk!” We all laughed while tossing the shell off the car to its “rightful owner.” 

Our cars became fuller. I found an old Brothers typewriter, a Blaupunct radio, a small kitchenette refrigerator, and an espresso machine. Martine chose a surfboard and a wetsuit, a CD of the Grateful Dead, (who he never heard of before), and a three-string banjo. Neighbors were out right and left rummaging. Molly had a shovel, pick, and rake, attached to the back of her “new” Schwinn circa 1936 2 1/2 speed lady’s bike. Carol had her body wrapped in throw rugs, curtains draped over her arms, and a Guatemalan basket on her head. The judge was out “window shopping” the left-out loot. It was carnival time and everyone was gleeful with their new freebies.  

It was junk exchanging at its best, organized by the brilliant folks in the recycling department of the city. Somehow my neighbors’ castaways became gems, at least for the time being. I wonder how much of it I’ll see at the white elephant sale for the Alta Bates Thrift Store.  

As the clock struck midnight, I remembered I had a paid job to go to in the morning. We headed towards home, sleepy and totally satisfied. 

Before he said buenas noches, Martine told me he was going to organize a bulky, reusable item pick up day in Buenos Aires. I fell off to sleep, planning future travels and travails with Martine. Maybe next, we will go to the Marin flea market.