Dialogue: When one man's rubbish can become another man's bounty

The elderly man was struggling with his heavy barrow, but he still stopped at each pile of rubbish in case there was something else of value to add. It came as a shock to realise that not all the Asians who come to this country are rich. This man was part of the underclass.

Inorganic rubbish collections in Manukau are probably different from those of inner Auckland. Mixed in our city are suburbs of the haves and have-nots. And when the well-to-do put out their rubbish, those in want swarm the streets in ageing cars, or pushing prams and barrows, looking for something they can use.

Recognising their needs, our household collection doesn't just represent the hard stuff. It has a selection of goods guaranteed to make someone happy. The giveaways are carefully set out in open boxes, or on the grass, for easy perusal. When necessary, they are contained in clear plastic bags against the vagaries of the weather.

Notices in permanent ink are placed on containers destined for the tip. This year I put "Old technical books - no value" on a plastic bag. Yet there was something of value - the books were tipped out and the black sack taken. Later, someone collected up the out-of-date engineering tomes. Just as well, because I'd sort of cheated there - the books were hardly inorganic.

Self-labelled were the cardboard boxes with old drums from our printers and fax. But someone didn't understand the technicalities of modern communication: the boxes were ripped open and the grass blackened with ink.

This year's prize giveaway was pillows. Farmers had a special on, so I decided to throw out the old and buy new. Eight pillows were stuffed into a large clear plastic bag. Some family had it lucky. Not so me. Farmers had sold out when I went along to buy more.

The first items to go were the bamboo flares bought at The Warehouse years ago and never used. A container of mosquito repellent oil was placed beside them. All disappeared in minutes.

Popular, too, was the crockery selection - a dozen or so cups in perfect condition. However, the saucers were chipped. Since Levene's went bust, it's been impossible to get replacements. The firm that took over the franchise refuses to sell saucers without cups, so we've changed to mugs.

Giveaways of previous years have included placemats, for they get a bit stained and tatty. This year we put out plastic ones, deeply indented by hot plates but still good. Surprisingly, they were among the last items to go. I guess they can be bought so cheaply at $2 shops that they aren't as much a bargain as the Jason ones.

One year we had an unusual offering - a selection of beginner's oils. I set out a dozen or so of my husband's paintings along the block wall. We were astonished how rapidly they went. Did some dealer want the frames or has some Polynesian family proudly adorned its walls with honky art?

The most expensive item we gave away was a fibreglass canoe. Our sons, with adolescent quirkiness, had named it Poxy. The canoe was stored under the carport in a sling. Everyone who came to the front door was confronted by the prow with this nasty name on it.

Eventually, the second boy went off on his OE. The next inorganic rubbish collection seemed the ideal time to get rid of Poxy. And what a wonderful gift it would make for a couple of deprived children. We lifted Poxy down and set her out with the other items.

Poxy disappeared. How she was transported we didn't know. Then, three days later, Poxy unexpectedly reappeared, inside the wall, on our front lawn. She was in two pieces. Attached to her was a venomous note. Evidently, Poxy, when out on the water, had split in half. The missive, in very coarse terms, advised us where to stuff Poxy. So much for our planned largesse.

As our collection is close to Christmas, I put out unused articles to be given as gifts - the photo frames that weren't quite right, plastic hairbrush sets, whistling key rings. And then there are toys - second-hand.

It's an exciting time. I'm in and out all day to check on what's been taken. I report to my husband: "The frypan's gone." "They've removed the handle and left the mop." And, tearfully: "Panda's off to a new home."

I note that most people stick to the rules and put out the items the council will accept.

But why not take advantage of the inorganic rubbish collection and put out goodies? It's fun. And it helps the disadvantaged.

* Jill Jamieson is an Auckland writer.