Nothing in Life is Free

One of the most difficult tasks I have undertaken recently is to donate a beautiful piece of furniture to charity.

Years ago we acquired a lovely entertainment center.  Made of solid mahogany, it was the perfect corral for our old school television and stereo components.  Over the past few years, however, technology has undergone a dramatic transformation. Our music systems got smaller while our televisions got larger and flatter.   Before long, the entertainment center was a white elephant—storing only old quilts and hundreds of children’s cartoons on VHS tapes behind its hand-carved doors.

As it happens, I am a serial renovator.  Each time a workman comes with a sturdy pick-up truck, I am normally able to barter some portion of their services in exchange for objects that have lost their usefulness in our home.  I have traded antique dressers, chairs, desks, bookcases, appliances, and even an off-colored toilet or two, for thousands of dollars of services.  But when it came to the mahogany entertainment center there were no takers.    There it sat, taking up a prominent wall in our basement guest room, for over ten years.

I thought I would finally prevail when I persuaded one contractor that we should consider our carbon footprint in the design of custom bookcases for our home office.   Couldn’t we dismantle this giant piece of furniture, I argued, and repurpose its beautiful wood?   While he admired the concept—making a note to himself that he really needed to think in “greener” terms in the future—he really couldn’t be bothered to strip old nails and re-mill the material.  It was much easier—and as it turned out, cheaper in the long run—for him to fill his truck with unfinished stock from the local Home Depot.

I refused to give up.  Every project undertaken in this house began with a hopeless attempt to repurpose the TV cabinet:  a new mantle over the fireplace, a new vanity in the master bath, a new headboard.  Unfortunately, each project demanded that new materials be purchased while the entertainment center sat untouched.  Eventually, I abandoned my bartering and reuse pitches altogether, offering to give away the massive beast to each workman in succession if only he would take it away in his truck.  Each politely declined.

Even shameless begging failed to work.

Then, the charities began to call:  Salvation Army, Epilepsy Foundation, Disabled Veterans, Goodwill.  Each mentioned that a truck would be in my neighborhood on a specific date.  Would I happen to have some furniture or used appliances to donate, as they were greatly in need of any and all discards?  “Ah!” I would cry with relief.  “I have a wonderful entertainment cabinet in perfect condition.”  “Well,” they would instruct. “Leave it at the top of your driveway.  The driver will not remove any furniture from your home, will not walk upstairs, will not drive into your driveway.  It must be small enough for the driver to lift on his own onto the truck.  There is no ramp or elevator on the truck.”  Well, geez, anything that fit those criteria I could cart away myself to the local drop.

After striking out ad nauseum with the telephone solicitors, I began calling these organizations’ headquarters to see if it would be possible to arrange a “special” pick-up.  Perhaps with notice they could make arrangements to receive a large and lucrative item.  No dice.

As a last resort, I decided simply to “curb chuck” the monster.   In the 14 years we have spent in this house, we have been successful in causing unwanted items to disappear simply by moving them out to the curb.  Thus, we have found new homes for ovens, bed frames, old televisions, boxes, and sundry other items.  Our record for any curbside discard is two hours.  Left outside on any Saturday or Sunday, this is how long it takes for a random passerby to claim an abandoned item.   I have asked my husband, my son, my nephew, and assorted friends of my kids (some of whom are hockey and football players well fed from my kitchen) to help move the cabinet out to the curb.  That approach began six years ago, and nothing came of it.  “It’s too heavy,” was a common complaint.

Finally, desperate to reclaim the space that this monster was occupying, I decided to look for a moving company.  Yes, after begging contractors, day laborers, relatives, and strangers, I was willing to pay for professional movers to come to my house just to carry a single piece of furniture from my guest room to the curb.  I was almost too embarrassed to place the call! 

Fortunately, a miracle occurred.  Thanks to the magic of Google, my search netted me “College Hunks Hauling Junk,” a business that was almost too good to be true.  Not only do they employ an adorable crew of young guys with bulging muscles, they were willing to send three such specimens to my house with a truck.  For a fee—$154 to be exact—they removed my gargantuan cabinet from my guest room and delivered it to the local Goodwill, leaving behind nothing but a donation receipt and a whiff of Aqua Velva.

I still can’t get over that I had to pay in order to donate an item to charity.  (In reality, the fee is most likely a wash with the tax benefit of the donation itself.)  Or that I found a company that was tailor made for my particular dilemma.  Even more amazing is that the giant cabinet is gone, after serving us well for over fifteen years and taunting us for at least ten more.  It reminds me of something my grandmother used to say: “ The impossible just takes a little longer.”

Tomorrow's blog:  The Semi-Charmed Life of a Faculty Wife