One Man’s Trash is Another Man’s…Gift to His Girlfriend
Austin got me a present today.
And I can honestly say, I hope I never get another present like this ever again.
So for the past year, I’ve been keeping my intimates and tank tops in a cardboard box on the floor of my closet for three reasons:
1. I let my sister take the plastic storage container I was using only because my parents promised to get me a nice wooden dresser for my clothes.
2. My parents didn’t get me one.
3. I’m too lazy/cheap to buy myself one.
When I first moved into my apartment, I told myself that I would get one tomorrow…then it was next weekend…and then next month. Before I knew it, January was here and I figured, well hell, I’ve already done it for six months, what’s another six months?
Therefore, I am a 22-year old college graduate who rifles through her Victoria’s Secrets in a cardboard box like some crazy lacy undies collecting hobo.
Yeah, I’m just that classy.
Which brings me to today. Every week, this scraggly looking old man drives his old pick-up truck to the dumpster beside my apartment building to collect stuff. I have nothing against hoarders or dumpster divers or freegans (people who choose to eat out of dumpsters…no, seriously) so I really don’t mind him being there, but I’ve always been curious about what this guy takes and why. I mean, who is this guy?
Anyway, Austin was helping me throw away some trash when he stopped suddenly and yelled for me, “Janie, look what I found!”
He pulls out an old-school stereo and says, “Why would you throw this away? It’s perfectly fine!”
I laugh and tell him to put it back. He puts the stereo back in the dumpster and then says, “Wow, there’s so much cool stuff in here. Why do people throw this stuff away?”
And then he pulls out a three-drawer plastic storage container and yells to me, “Look at this…this would be like 30 dollars at Target!”
Jokingly, I yell back, “I could put my undies in that!”
He sets it on the ground and start looking at the drawers. “You know,” he says, “we should take this.”
At which I proceeded to give him my “Are you serious” death stare.
But before I could intervene, he already had it hugged to his chest and was walking toward my apartment with this proud look on his face like he found the lost treasure of Eldorado. I ran after him and watched him gingerly set it on my kitchen floor and Clorox-wipe every inch of it.
He couldn’t be serious. I was not going to keep it, much less keep my delicates in there. I would much rather keep my delicates in a clean cardboard box than some plastic container from a dumpster. I mean, who knows what used to be in it? Some crack addict probably kept his stash in those drawers and I definitely do not want crack on clothing that touch my private regions.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“It’s for your undies,” he replied, still concentrating on the Clorox-ing.
“Austin, I am not keeping my undies in something that you found in the dumpster. It’s gross and weird and…”
Then he gave me The Look. You know, the look where he’s so full of pure happiness and pride with what he’s done that you immediately don’t have the heart to tell him whatever you originally were going to say.
I sigh. “Alright. I’ll keep it. Let’s put it in my closet.”
He giddily takes it to my room and puts it where the cardboard box used to be. Of course, it’s a perfect fit.
I turn to him, with a reluctant smile on my face, “Austin, do not expect me to say this to you ever again. But thank you, for the present you got me from out of the dumpster. It’s very nice.”
So now I no longer keep my intimates in a cardboard box. Now I keep them in a plastic storage container from a dumpster.
I have the best boyfriend in the whole world.