The Monger

Twice a year, everyone in the neighbourhood receives a notice in the letterbox telling them that a street collection would be coming round soon. Over the next two weeks, people trash around in their garages, contemplating over junk and long-gone memories. And eventually, the weekend before the trucks are due, a heaped pile appears out the front.

Then the scavengers come. There are two types of scavengers; interested observers and mongers. The interested observers are the ones that peek into boxes as they walked past, perhaps taking the long route home to gain a look at those few extra piles. Sometimes they may take something; a book that was left out, or a fridge’s shelf to replace their own. If they get nothing they don’t cry, but instead buy a new copy of a book, or a second-hand fridge.  

The other scavengers, the mongers, are different. They amble around in small trucks, eyeing up the things that could be worth a buck; that chair, the cables in the back of the T.V. They know what they’re looking for and they always get there first.

Every time the collection comes around I like to sit and watch the people in the street. Most are interested observers, people just going on their daily strolls that they only take at this time of the year. The mongers usually come when it’s beginning to get dark, when there are less people in the streets. Their trucks rustle down the street, slowly, occasionally pulling to the side to look or let a car pass.

Whilst they attack other piles with gusto, they never really batter an eye at mind. I guess it’s because I know the worth of the junk, how that small part of the washing machine could get a decent price, same with the wood from the dresser.

Each year my truck sits outside, empty, waiting for treasures to be dumped into. I guess I’ve been hoping that I’ll find someone who will go with me one year. I’ll point and they’ll lift, but no one sees that it’s more than junk.

Until then, I’ll have to be an interested observer, but at hear, I’ll always be a monger.

Reviews

[Marie]

It's that way where I live tool People troll up and down the streets in trucks, looking for scrp iron. Sometimes I have something for them; sometomes not...