I put a dumpster (or Trashco waste disposal unit) in my driveway. Then I proceeded to fill it up with garbage and various crap from my basement and backyard and garage. That old broken freezer got chucked. Wasn’t easy, but I got in the dumpster. That old 50″ projection TV set got chucked too.
Sidenote: it’s sad that I live in a world where a functioning 50″ television set is so unwanted that leaving it on the curb with a sign reading “FREE TV” goes unnoticed. Juice has a similar TV. He’s used it longer as a ledge in his garage than as a TV itself.
It turned out that I had so much crap in my house, one dumpster wasn’t enough. I got a second dumpster after filling the first.
Mind you, some stuff was monetized. A patio set that only spent two summers outside was sold. It spent nearly a decade in the garage, but only two summers outside. I also sold my grandparents’ Coca-Cola bottles. They (my grandparents) weren’t collectors. They just knew glass bottles had a longevity. And they would make a year’s worth of tomato sauce every summer. Sure, they could have put the sauce in mason jars (they did that too) but if they had a glass bottle of Coca-Cola, they could drink the soda, then put sauce in the empty bottle. My cellar was half-full of old soda bottles. I had everything. Coca-Cola, Pepsi, Sprite, Royal Crown and all of those Italian-Canadian variations of sodas like Brio and Mio and Pasta-Fajola-Cola. (Mangiacakes are now wondering if that’s a real soda pop or just a joke that they don’t get. Italian Canadians are now briefly laughing but also thinking “Hmm, yeah that’s a joke, but I would totally drink that.”) For some reason, the only bottles that have a value today are the Coca-Cola. The most common glass pop bottle from days gone by has value but that obscure brand like Pop Shoppe has no value.
I also found some tomato sauce in my cellar. I don’t remember who made that sauce or when. If my grandparents made the sauce, it would be over twenty years old. And that means that I would have moved with that sauce twice. My grandfather died in 1995 and my grandmother never made sauce again. I’m guessing my aunt made the sauce, which would mean that sauce is probably about 15 years old. Either way, I dumped the sauce.
I also chucked most of the Christmas decorations. Seriously. I had two Christmas trees, one of which was 16 feet tall.
If I made a list of all the things that I threw away in the those two dumpsters, the list would be so long it could fill a dumpster itself.
Here’s something scary. My house doesn’t feel less cluttered. It still feels full of stuff. And I’m still giving stuff away. I have these friends who have two boys around 8 or 6 years old or whatever. I’ve been giving them all of my old Transformer toys. I still have a few left. I’m probably going to unload those last few as Christmas presents.
I did throw away the piss chair though.
Oh, the piss chair. You probably want to know how a chair could get a name like that.
I was younger then. I was probably early teens, or just before. So like 12 or something. My family had this orange swiveling office chair. The chair had no arm rests and the back was T-shaped. It was kept in the basement of the house in the room that had my stereo and video games and stuff like that. I was sitting backwards in the chair, you know, cool-style. My legs straddling around the vertical bar that held up the backrest making the T-shape. My brother had a friend over, a guy named Crispy. My brother grabbed my legs and I for some reason started laughing. “Lemme go. I’m gonna piss myself.” I said between chuckles. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m not going to let go.” I kept laughing and repeating my warning. And then I just stopped laughing. My brother immediately noticed the look of calm come over my face. He looked down and saw my pants were now wet. He let go and said “Oh man, you pissed yourself.” I went upstairs, cleaned myself a bit and changed my clothes. I went back into the basement and my brother and myself attempted to clean the chair. Since that day, the chair has been known as the piss chair. Every person attempting to sit in the chair since then has been warned “Hey, that’s the piss chair. I call it that because I pissed on the chair.” Why the chair has been kept for over twenty years is unknown to me. It’s not like I needed a chair or have used that chair since. It’s been a dust collector in my furnace room since I pissed on it. But now it’s gone. Hopefully it’s getting pissed on in that great big trash pile in the sky.