Sidewalking
There are four Christmas trees on my sidewalk. There’s an old, 1990s fat-screen TV down the street, propped up against a mattress. Rare LA rain soaks these sidewalked objects.
Sidewalking used goods is a good habit, in the pandemic more so. As Goodwill suspended donations to reduce transmission, the sidewalk became the general repository for goods that I knew I could not take with me to Los Angeles but which deserved a second life with someone. Decking the sidewalk with boughs of used goods has a festive monicker in Madison, Wisconsin: the housing market of Dane County is tied to the university, and on the last day of August student leases expire and bedding, desk lamps, storage containers line the sidewalks. It’s a delight even for non-hippies: I got my dining room table, a stool, and two recliners from this tradition.
There are sidewalked objects that reek of a certain desperation, items no one could want. The chonky TV almost qualified, almost certainly qualifies now that the rain has drenched it. I understand the impulse: this Hail Mary to save something from a landfill has a noble intent even if the specific good may not merit rehoming. Though, another impulse is laziness. Electronics require specific disposal, and for those living in apartments the communal dumpster may be a few minutes’ walk away, whereas the sidewalk, so inviting, is right by our front door.
The Christmas trees qualify as laziness—I wouldn’t want to lug them along to my dumpster. The evergreens sadden me. It’s a 400 million dollar industry. Every one of them is going to get tossed onto an LA or Laramie or Madison sidewalk. They are the most expensive, or at least most ostentatious, single-use item I can think of.
I know—tradition is imporant to many, we should let people enjoy things—but as with most traditions and joys, the consumerist dictum and our disposable relationship with our goods has made much unnecessary waste.
Unnecessary, and now damp, waste. The nice thing about rain is that it shames those who sidewalk desperately. It is a sign that what they thought could be repurposed should have gone to a landfill after all. The following day, I looked out my window to see no more Christmas trees. Don’t worry, they’ll be back again next year.