Saturday, July 6, 2013

Of Divers and Dumpsters

The Missus and I spent our Friday night packing and pitching.  Items deemed worthy to live to see the dawn of another day made it to the cozy confines of our Pack-Rat.  Items deemed less so made it to the less bucolic surroundings of the dumpster that we had dropped off in the driveway of our soon-to-be-former home earlier yesterday.  Life in the fast lane?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  Either way, I surely believe that I have lost my mind. 

As I was pitching "treasures" into the dumpster last evening, I found myself smiling a lot.  You know the old saw about ignorance and bliss; right?  Well, my ignorance was not the only factor that made our situation humorous.  What Margaret and I did last night took me back in time to my last year in Boulder.  Jay, John, Alex and I lived down on Canyon Boulevard at a Shangri-La know as 2228 Canyon.  But for the way in which the apartment building's layout lent itself to our being able to purloin our neighbor's cable feed and their electrical service, that rat-trap was not then - and is not now - featured at all in the Michelin Guide to Places to Live in Boulder, Colorado.  A dump owned and managed by a rather shady character whose full-time gig was as an attorney.  Who would have guessed it?  Whip out the box of Crayolas Timmy and color me stunned!  But then again....no.

In the late 1980's Boulder had a very happening leftover hippie/perpetual Dead Head population who were often mistaken - by me at least - for homeless people.  It did not help illuminate the line between them that many of the Granolas spent their time enthusiastically pursuing pasttimes other than work.  A favorite Friday afternoon excursion of theirs - at least for the ones who lived in our neighborhood - was "Dumpster Diving".

Irrespective of the weather, each and every Friday afternoon a small cadre of the neighborhood 'Nolas would descend upon - and ultimately into -the dumpsters in the alley behind out building and the neighboring shitholes.  The theory I reckon was that college kids typically kick off the weekend on Thursday nights.  Thus, on Friday afternoon the dumpsters were chock full of bottles and cans to be recycled and turned in for deposit - not to mention slightly damaged furniture to rescue and if the tea leaves were properly aligned the remnants of a leftover Abo's slice, a Taco Bell run  or a gyro from the little Greek joint down on the Pearl Street Mall.   As the Swallows returned to Capistrano so did the neighborhood 'Nolas return to the alley.

I do not know how my old college partner in crime spent his Friday night but I hope that if and when he reads this he will see how I spent mine - think about how we used to watch others spend theirs and have a good laugh or two. 

Even if just for old time's sake....

-AK

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