WHAT could be more humiliating than having the Salvation Army refuse the furniture you've donated to them, because it's in "inferior condition"? Well, perhaps it's pleading with the men in overalls as they head for the door, while trying to polish the surfaces with an old sock. "The scratches aren't deep… and that's just some dried-on soup, see!"
Worse still is being left alone with a fridge freezer, a double bed, a dining table, four chairs and a 1970s stereo, all sitting there defiantly as if saying: "Well, you've abused us for years, now you're stuck with us! We refuse to be refuse!"
O
kay, I have to admit, my motivation was not entirely charitable to start with. The idea of furthering the cause of God's little helpers makes my skin crawl, but I was willing to indulge in a little ethical hypocrisy, given the trip to the tip they'd be saving me.
After the stunning rejection, however, there was only one choice left – dump it all on the street. It was a Thursday and my collection day is Wednesday, so the stuff would be sitting there another six days and the council could slam a fine on me, but I thought: "Fine! Bring it on."
Two hours it took to lug all the stuff out, and I was so knackered afterwards that I took a wee nap, which turned into a full night's sleep. Come morning, fear of arrest ran through my waking dreams. I ran outside to try to drag some stuff back inside before the council cops arrived. But to my amazement, all of it, bar the stereo, had gone. Whoosh! Saved by God knows who.
Later in the day the fairy godfather of refuse reusing reappeared. I watched from my window as a man of possibly Slavic origin with a white van stopped by the old stereo (and a few shelves I'd added), put the lot in the back and drove off. I imagined that the inside was brimming with CD players, futons and computer terminals, all rescued from the neighbourhood. I pictured scores of streetwise immigrants chilling out with my freezer or huddled round a bonfire that was once my bed. I was rather ironically redeemed. By my selfishness, I had done more social good than the Salvation Army.
As a result I have caught the reusing bug. All week I've been picking up things from the streets: a pine dresser from Maryhill Road is now in my bedroom; the kids have two scooters from a skip. I've also been scouring the 'for free' sections on websites like Gumtree.
A lava lamp from Bishopbriggs; pine shelving from Govan; a kitten and collection of stilettos in a size 10 from some very friendly gentleman in Edinburgh (I chose to decline his offer) – all free for collection.
Once you've got over the bourgeois fear of other people rummaging through your old things and you through theirs, reusing seems a truly radical way to live. There are some big ecological implications too: reusing is 99% energy efficient (1% is wasted in driving around) compared with recycling, which is estimated to be less than 20%.
Crushing, stripping and melting the parts of, say, a computer, for recycling creates a lot more toxic crap than giving it away to someone in need or leaving it on the street so it can find a new home. I'd like to thank the Salvation Army for teaching me that there's an 'F' of a difference between refuse and reuse.
The full article contains 601 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
