Hey, That's My Trash!

It's hard to imagine a world without the concept of property. When we own something, it's ours, fair and square. And theft is a valid cause for anger, whether it's a stolen bike or a coworker passing off one of your ideas as her own. But a recent situation has me scratching my head about this whole "property" thing.

A few nights ago, I was awakened at 1:00 a.m. to an odd rattling and clanking racket outside my window. If anyone has ever seen me shaken from a sound sleep, they'll know I look a little like a newly hatched bird, only a lot crankier.


So, I get my bearings and head over to the window to see what's going on. There, in the midst of several trash cans, is a man rummaging through countless bags of refuse -- MY refuse.

Strange and contradictory feelings began to flood my mind. On one hand, "that's my trash and he has no right to go looking through it," and on the other, "I did just discard all that crap."

Issues of identity theft aside, I never thought I would be angry about someone taking my trash. I don't seem to mind when it's the sanitation worker. And, hey, maybe it was Al Gore doing his part to recycle and save Boston from total submersion into the abyss.

Me at 1:00 A.M.

I eventually decided to go back to sleep and leave the man to his devices -- harmless or not -- because, ultimately, losing sleep is way worse than losing trash.

What are your thoughts? Anyone ever get angry at a dumpster diver?



(Photos courtesy of incendiarymind and Audreyjm529)