One Man's Trash...

Today is garbage day and I couldn't help but remember this incident of a few years ago:

Driving home recently I noticed a mattress and box-spring set placed beside the road presumably for the trash men to take it away. It reminded me of a similar circumstance a friend of mine had years ago. She had called and asked if we could help her. She had been renting out a spare room for several years and the lady moved out leaving an old mattress and box-spring set behind. It was definitely past its prime and too much for one person to carry.

We were happy to help bring it out for pick up. It was one of the most used mattresses I had ever seen. The middle was totally mashed down and only about three inches thick. It spread close to the perimeter, which still maintained some semblance of the original nine-inch depth. The original color of the cover was no longer discernable. It was now superimposed stain upon stain. While I didn’t say anything, I thought it would be a good idea to really wash up after this task was finished.

We visited for a bit afterward. Two hours had passed and as we were saying our goodbyes I looked at the spot where the mattress was and some people had actually slowed down to assess it. It actually looked as though they might take it. I thought to myself that the old axiom must be true: “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Still, we had difficulty believing that anyone could possibly find any mileage left in it, it was really used up. What did we know? There are apparently very needy people in the world. They drove on slowly.

Shortly after we got home the telephone rang. It was my friend. She was very excited. The people that slowed down to look at the mattress had actually come back with a pickup truck to tote the thing away. Unbelievable.

Several hours later the telephone rang. It was my friend. She was laughing, I actually had to wait for her to calm down before I could understand what she was trying to say. She said, “They brought it back.”

Sometimes one man’s trash is just that…trash.


E. Rossopoulos