Farewell Furniture: Eco-Friendly Ways to Dispose of Your Old Items in Dubai
Decluttering your Dubai home and giving pre-loved furniture a new life feels good, but where do you start?
Fear not, furniture fareweller! Here are your eco-friendly disposal options:
How to Dispose of Old and Used Furniture in Dubai?
1. Donate for a Good Cause:
Charity: Breathe new life into your furniture by donating to charities like Dar Al Ber Society or Dubai Municipality's donation program. They accept items in good condition and use them to help those in need.
Second-hand stores: Let others treasure your items! Sell to second-hand stores like Cash & Carry or Carpe Diem Dubai. This extends the lifespan of your furniture and generates some cash.
2. Repurpose with Passion:
Get creative: Unleash your inner DIYer! Upcycle old furniture into planters, bookshelves, or even pet beds. The internet is filled with inspiring ideas.
Give it away (for free): Offer your furniture on online platforms like Dubizzle or Facebook Marketplace. Someone might find it perfect for their needs, and you avoid landfill blues.
3. Responsible Removal Services:
Municipality service: Dubai Municipality offers a bulky waste collection service for furniture disposal in Dubai for a nominal fee. Book online and they'll collect your furniture from your doorstep.
Private junk removal companies: Companies like Get My Junk UAE and Junk Clean offer hassle-free removal with eco-friendly disposal practices.
Remember:
Be honest about condition: Clearly state the furniture's condition when donating or selling to avoid disappointment.
Disassemble if possible: This makes transportation and collection easier, especially for larger items.
Consider sustainability: When choosing removal services, opt for companies committed to recycling or responsible disposal practices.
By choosing the right option, you'll ensure your old furniture doesn't end up in landfills, contributing to a greener Dubai!
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The team is invited to a wedding. You and Ghost are trying to pass time.
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You walk down the candlelit path leading to the wedding reception, holding a beautifully wrapped gift in your arms. A friendly usher welcomes you with a warm smile and extends his hands, offering to take the package from you. As you hand it over, a hostess greets you politely and asks for your name. You introduce yourself, and she scans her clipboard.
Your gaze is drawn to the chateau in the distance, which appears to have been plucked from a fairytale. Questions about its history and the people who once called it home fill your mind. Who used to live here? And who is generous enough to offer its premises for newlyweds to host their wedding receptions? How old is this place, anyway?
“Fourteen,” the hostess says.
“Excuse me?”
She takes a look at the clipboard before returning her gaze to you. “You’re seated at table 14.” She repeats.
You nod and walk to the garden to find your seat. Like the chateau, the dining area outside is quite a sight: tables with crisp tablecloths, beautifully decorated with floral arrangements, flickering candles, and elegant glassware.
You spot your table; it’s almost empty, save for a familiar face sitting on one of the chairs. Well, not entirely familiar, as you only see it on special occasions when he is absolutely required to remove his balaclava.
“Nice place,” you quip, and he turns to look at you.
“It’s not mine,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to the distance.
You sigh and roll your eyes. “It was a comment about the estate, you asshole.” You explain and take a seat right next to him.
He huffs and points his thumb at the chateau. “That thing is nice?” he retorts, slowly shaking his head. “Not my style.”
“What’s your style?” you ask, hoping to engage him in conversation.
“Something smaller, simpler,” he says, looking at the chateau, “without so many... windows.”
“No windows?” You inquire, raising one eyebrow. “You’re not secretly a vampire, are you, Lieutenant?”
He smirks and rolls up his sleeves. “Me? No,” he murmurs, “but this wedding is sucking the bloody life out of me.”
“Because you were so full of it before,” you say jokingly. “Can’t you be happy for your comrades for once?”
He reclines in his chair, intertwines his fingers, and places his hands on his stomach. “Let’s just say that I could have been even happier for them in the comfort of my own home,” he replies.
You set your clutch bag on the table. “Why didn’t you just stay at home then?” You ask.
“Social obligation,” he explains with a shrug.
You widen your eyes and raise your eyebrows. “Social obligation?” You repeat, a smile forming at the corners of your lips. “That’s something I never expected to hear coming out of your mouth.”
He scoffs and picks up the wedding favour that has been carefully placed on his plate. “Oh, yeah?” He points to the golden letters on the small pistachio-coloured box, “Wait till you hear me say ‘macaron’.” He replies sarcastically, attempting to pull off a fake French accent.
You playfully put the back of your hand on your forehead, pretending to be fainting. Simon smiles and leans back in his chair, repositioning the box on the table.
“The others?” You ask, “They’re not here yet?”
He scans the area with his eyes slowly before pointing in the distance. “There’s Price talking to the couple...” he looks over his shoulder and motions towards the bar, “...and Soap is waiting for his drink.”
“What about Gaz?” You ask.
“The Sargent was talking to the maid of honour a little while ago. They could be testing the stability of the century-old furniture in there,” he speculates, looking up at the top floor of the chateau.
Your mouth drops open. “Diana, the medic?” You yell.
He presses his index finger to his lips. “Shh!” He whispers sternly.
You apologise, then place your hand over your mouth and whisper, “Diana, the medic?!”
“Oh, please,” he sneers, “as if you didn’t notice how they greet each other at the base.”
“I had no idea!” You reply, surprised.
“Well, maybe if you stopped talking so much and started paying more attention to your surroundings, you’d notice things a little bit more.”
You stick your tongue out at him and mock his statement. He smiles and gently nudges your leg with his.
“You wore heels.” He comments, looking down at your feet.
“I did,” you confirm, “and what of it?”
He clears his throat, smirks, and shifts his gaze to the horizon.
“What?” You repeat.
“Nothing.” He responds, and his smile broadens.
“Tell me!” You command and crack a smile.
His shoulders move up and down as he suppresses his laughter. He’s thoroughly enjoying watching you beg for an answer. You pinch his arm, and he groans.
“Hey,” he says between laughs, grabbing your wrist to stop you. He gestures towards the distance, where the maid of honour walks to the front of the stage, explaining something to the DJ while instinctively fixing her hair.
“I wonder how long it will be before Kyle appears.” You mumble.
Ghost turns around. “Not long,” he says, motioning towards the bar. You turn to face Soap, straightening Gaz’s tie.
“You think MacTavish knows?” You ask.
“Soap?” Ghost asks, shaking his head. “Nah.”
“Why not?”
“Look at him,” he orders. “Would he be so focused on fixing Gaz’s tie if he knew? On the contrary, he’d be bugging him for details.”
You place your hand on his shoulder and lean closer to his ear. “Yes, but we know about their secret endeavours,” you whisper, “what do we say to him?”
He tightens his grip on your wrist and widens his eyes. “We say fuck all,” he replies sternly. “I told you, observe more and talk less.”
“Oh, unless you get to gossip with one of your teammates instead?” You tease.
“I’m not gossiping!” He protests. “Gossiping involves judging other people’s life choices.”
You lean back in your chair and cross your arms. “And what is it that you do, Lieutenant?”
He shrugs. “People-watching.” He states.
“People-watching.” You repeat.
He gives a nod. “And I guarantee you,” he murmurs, “that someone here is doing the exact same thing to us: watching us laughing, me pushing your leg, looking at your heels, you pinching my arm, whispering in my ear. Do you think we’re the only ones who keep an eye on others?”
You blush and look around, hoping to spot the perpetrator who will prove Ghost’s theory.
“You mean to tell me that other people are watching us and think we’re flirting?” you ask, embarrassed.
“Aren’t we?” He smirks.
You blush even more and sit up straight. “Yeah,” you admit with a smile, “we are.”
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A/N: Thank you to that anon who inspired me yesterday. I may have written half of the story while at the wedding reception. 😬
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