Commentary by Melanie Patterson

The North Jefferson News



I never knew until recently that going through other peoples’ garbage on their curb was considered a socially-acceptable practice.

However, there is something called “junking” that not only is looked upon as normal in parts of the state, but it seems to practically be an Olympic event.

There are rules. There are techniques. There is a cycle that dictates it – namely, trash pickup day.

I went junking the other day with a friend of mine who lives in Vestavia Hills.

Like everyone else who doesn’t live in Vestavia, I had pre-conceived notions about the city. Digging through other people’s trash did not fit into my idea of things that Vestavia-ites do.

But I was so very wrong.

The adventure started with us driving up and down dark streets looking for promising-looking piles of other folks’ castoff stuff.

When we saw something interesting, we pulled over. I stayed in the truck looking nervously over my shoulder while my friend jumped out and did the actual pilfering.

I was pretty anxious during the process. Where I grew up, people did not go through other people’s stuff while it was still in their yard. That’s what going to the dump on Saturdays was for.

I was afraid that people were going to come outside with a shotgun to see who was on their property, even though the items were on the curb awaiting the next day’s garbage truck.

But my friend assured me the residents were happy that other people were carting away their unwanted items.

We stopped at one house where there were some new-looking kids’ toys piled up for the garbage man.

My friend, who is an expert junker, told me to pull over. She got out and looked through the toys, then noticed another pile of stuff a few yards down the road.

So she started walking toward it, motioning for me to follow.

I pulled up right beside her, only to be informed after she got back into the truck that I was supposed to stay far enough back for her to use the headlights to sort junk by.

In my mind, I was getting the door as close to her as possible in case we had to make a fast get-away.

At the end of the night, all we ended up with was a blender. But in the light, we saw a black moldy-looking substance in the bottom of it, so it got trashed a second time.

My friend told me that she’s going to take me junking again because that trip was a bust. She and her friends have found furniture and other good treasures.

Who knows … maybe I’ll get the fever and become an expert at junking too. If I don’t get shot first.