Sapping My Good Will - Chefelf.com Night Life

Sapping My Good Will

Every so often Jen and I accumulate a bunch of stuff that we need to get rid of. I feel tremendously guilty about throwing things away so I try to donate or reuse as much as I possibly can. Yesterday I brought a giant bag full of books to The Strand to sell them. I didn't really care about getting any money, I just needed to get them out of our apartment.

It was a fairly awful experience. I lugged the bag downtown filled with as many books as I could carry. When I got there the I walked up to the book-selling counter with my bag where I was instructed to go outside and wait in line behind a yellow line spray painted on the sidewalk. When it was my turn I went inside where a silent man behind a computer went through my books and sorted them into the pile of books they would buy and the pile of books that I would have to carry back home. Sadly the piles of books were exactly equal in height. I was in the area yesterday anyway but even so it was hardly with the ten dollars in profit I made for the time and effort involved in the process. Previously I asked if they'd just take the books as a donation but they refused (odd) and said they only bought books. If I could only lose the inability I have to throw away books it would be so much easier.

I've never cared for the Strand. It's a fine book store, I guess, but I just hate being there. It's poorly organized, extremely claustrophobic, and filled with pretentious jerk offs carrying their The Strand: 18 Miles of Books tote bags. Just a look at this portion of their website gives you a clear indication of the kind of person that shops at The Strand. So, like most places, it isn't the store that I dislike at all, I guess, it's just the people there. If there's one thing living in New York has reassured me of it's my dislike of people.

Today's mission was to get rid of a giant cart full of things we no longer need. A lot of it was items that have been upgraded or replaced from the wedding gifts we've received.

I feel like a jackass donating a wine rack to the needy.

The cart was filled so high that I had to hold the rolled up carpet in place to keep the bag of salad bowls and glasses from falling the entire walk to Goodwill. Goodwill, much like every company that has a location in New York City, suffers from an abundance of apathy in its workforce. Like most chains or organizations that will provide you with excellent service and accommodations anywhere else in the country, in New York City this tends to devolve into a level of treatment and servicet that generally would be reserved for rabid dogs, not human beings. I like to call this the phenomenon the Duane Reade Principle.

When I got to Goodwill they looked at me and my cart of donated goods with an average level of disdain that I have learned not to take any offense to. A rotund gentleman came up to me and said, "Do you have a box or anything to put that all in?"

"Um, no. Sorry. Do I need one," I replied.

At this the guy rolled his head back and let out an audible sigh while scratching his neck with one hand and rubbing his forehead with another.

"They don't like us putting things in the bin all loose like that."

"Oh. Do you have a box I could have?"

"Are you leaving the cart too?" The man asked.

"Um, no. I would like to keep my cart please."

"Alright," he said, shaking his head. "Just put it in there."

"Okay," I responded as I quickly began unloading my cart into the giant blue donation bin. Most of the stuff was in bags. Bags I didn't intend on donating but I figured I would leave them there so that the chubby guy didn't have a coronary.

After dropping stuff off at Goodwill I inevitably feel like crap. Mostly because the staff there treats me like I've walked into their home off the street expressly to pee on their carpet before I steal some of their cake and leave. I always expect to feel good. Two good things happen: 1) I donate useful things to people who genuinely need it and 2) I get rid of clutter from my apartment that makes my apartment a nicer place to be.

Don't get me wrong, I don't expect fanfare and praise from the staff. I'm not expecting maidens to come out from the back room and feed me grapes while fanning me with olive branches. I'm not expecting the president to come out and have his photo taken with me while shaking the hand of the world's greatest philanthropist. I don't expect lepers to crowd me just for the hopes of a single curing touch. I just expect not to feel like I've caused anyone the world's greatest headache by giving them my stuff. It was probably $250 to $400 worth of stuff (must to Jen's regret I did not get a receipt) that I'm giving to them that is perfectly useful, most of it brand new and never used.

Thankfully there was no computer recycling involved in the past 24 hours. That is always an exercise that makes me feel even more horrible. The worst part being that most "recycled" computers just end up going into Chinese landfills instead of American landfills.

Oh well. I guess I'll continue to do what I'm doing. Much like the simple act of buying toilet paper at your local New York City Rite Aid makes you feel like a giant piece of manure, donating things to the needy also fills your heart with sadness. The only thing that you need remember to make it worthwhile is that it is hopefully worth it.

With the toilet paper it almost always is.