This is a view of someone’s living room furniture from 1978 being dumped near my office in Stamford, CT.  Why does one dispose of trash this way?  What is the thought process when doing this?  Let’s put together a quick, fun scenario of how this possibly went down:

Some guy and his old lady are sitting around their home when they get into an argument over the fact that he didn’t pre-wash the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher, something she’s reminded him of for 15 years.  The dishes came out all crusty and she starts laying into his ass.

“Are you stupid or something?  What the hell’s wrong with you?  How many times do I have to tell you, rinse the goddamn dishes off first.  Now I got Prego sauce caked all over these bowls.”

The guy, 11 Miller High Lifes into the evening, doesn’t take too kindly to his old lady riding his ass.  He tries to avoid any confrontation, keep his mouth shut, sit on the couch, and watch 30-Minute Meals with Rachael Ray so he can learn how to make some real food and not eat that shit Prego sauce out of the jar.

She doesn’t let up though.  “I’m not scraping this off.  You can do it.  Maybe you could find the time to get your lazy ass off that couch for once and do something.”

Something snaps in him.  The 11 Miller High Lifes certainly don’t help, but he’s fed up with her shit.  His fear of confrontation stops him from letting her have it, so instead, he strangely decides to take it out on the couch and goes too far.  In a move all of us know too well after that many Miller High Lifes, the guy just slowly walks over to the couch and starts dragging it out of the house without saying a word.

The wife is dumbfounded.  “What the hell are you doing?”  He says nothing as he drags the couch, cushions and all, to his truck and opens the back gate.  He lifts one end up onto the truck, then slides the whole thing in.  Then he walks back to the house where his wife is just watching him now, fascinated.  He walks back into the living room, unplugs the desk he got in high school with the turntable and receiver, grabs AC/DC’s Highway to Hell album, and carries everything to the truck.  He wedges the equipment next to the couch.

Next, he walks over to his next-door neighbor’s house and knocks on the door.  He asks his neighbor if he wouldn’t mind driving his truck for him..too many beers, safety first.  His neighbor agrees and hops in the driver’s seat.  Our hero jumps on the back of the truck, plugs the stereo cord into the 12-volt adapter he has in the cigarette lighter to keep his six-pack cooler cold, puts Side 2 of Highway to Hell on the turntable, and delicately places the needle on the record.

As his wife watches all of this from the front door, speechless, the truck backs out of the driveway.  He gives her a “I don’t care what you think anymore” look as the song “If You Want Blood (You Got It)” blares out of the little desk speakers.  The truck pulls away as the wife gives him the finger.

\”If You Want Blood (You Got It)\” by AC/DC

As they head up Sunnyside Ave. to get more beers, they hit one of the many potholes that dominate the street around our building.  The stereo and turntable start to tip over.  In an effort to save them, our man stands up to catch them.  In the process, the couch slides out of the back at the same time that the stereo desk falls over the side.

They pull the truck over.  Our guy walks over and silently looks at the damage done.  He thinks for a second about taking the mattress out of the couch as he may need to find a buddy’s floor to sleep on for the foreseeable future, but decides against it.  It will only remind him of her.  They get back in the truck and don’t bother to clean up the mess.  It’s beer-thirty…

That’s what I envision happened.  The sad part is that I know this shit will still be there tomorrow morning.