The
other night I went dumpster diving. I had done this in college at the end of
the year when the new graduates threw out trashcans, blow driers, lamps, furniture and toiletries galore.
I specifically remember a time when my non-dumpster-diving friends drove into their apartment complex parking lot late one evening only to find Whitney and I entirely inside their apartment dumpster, with flashlight and headlamp, wallowing in filth . . . or treasures, rather.
We
froze in the glare of their headlights, of their stares, for a moment ashamed--and then quickly soared beyond shame upon remembering what lie below and continued
rummaging. Whitney and I were the poorest of our clique. She grew up on government
cheese and discount food items from the nearby Native American reservation and
I grew up on expired food and 100% garage sale attire. We were the ones working
through college. If free goods were to be had, Whitney and I wanted in. So—dumpster-diving.
That
was seven years ago. I was twenty-one years old and in college shopping for free
furniture and half-used name brand shampoo. Maybe a full-length mirror if I was
really lucky.
This
time was different. This time I was twenty-nine years old and rummaging through the
cockroach-infested dumpster of an organic food store, in search of groceries
for my best friend.
We
were looking for food. In a dumpster.
And
while Jade felt right at home and practically dove in headfirst—tearing open
bags and slowly becoming covered in grime—I did not.
When
I hit the dumpster in college I was shopping for accessories, for whatever was
free and looked neat. Most of the good stuff was actually set neatly outside the
dumpster and anything else was piled in heaps—not hidden beneath the stench of
rotting strawberries and greasy mayo. I realized, while in the dumpster,
watching the cockroaches, that some people don't do this for fun.
They
do it to live.
I
don't mind dirt. In fact, one of my favorite past times in all the world is
running and playing in the rain and mud. I wait tables. I am covered in sweat
and food particles the majority of my shift. I have slept with cockroaches that were literally as big as my hand, crawling the walls of my home in the African heat.
I have worked disaster relief jobs that required me to suck raw sewage from
carpets with a wet vac. Again, I don’t mind dirt.
But
this? This was repulsive. The stench. The cockroaches crawling on the food we
were picking at. The cockroaches with which we were trapped inside a six by six foot metal box. The filth on my hands—my face—my clothes—my car. It was truly
disgusting.
For
some reason I thought dumpster diving would be fun. Maybe that’s because in
college, it was. We didn’t need the
items we were looking for to survive. We simply wanted them. And they were
free.
Dumpster
diving this time wasn’t about free lamps and apartment accessories. It was
about getting free food to be taken home, rinsed off, eaten and stored because
food stamp money was running low. And that made me uncomfortable. It made
dumpster diving not so fun after all.
Jade,
however, seemed to be having a blast. As I said, she dove right in. We went
home with two watermelons, a carton of strawberries, a bag of lemons, a box of
mushrooms, two eggs, three blueberry scones, several tomatoes, a box of cereal,
a zucchini, and three or four not-so-frozen-anymore stir-fry dinners.
She could eat for days.
She could eat for days.
Really,
she had food at home. It may not have lasted long, but it was there. Jade
dumpster-diving for her dinner didn’t make me uncomfortable. The thoughts the
situation provoked did. I thought about all of Jade’s California friends, her
homeless friends, her wandering friends—who do this not once a month for extra food, but every day for all their food. I thought about all the
starving people in all the world who don’t do this for a ‘late night adventure’
but rather, simply to survive.
Honestly,
this wasn’t one of those life-changing moments for me where I realized I needed
to ‘quit my day job’ (that I don’t have) and go feed the hungry.
I
realized I’m glad I have friends like Jade.
There
was a time in my life (age 0-24 years) when almost every person I knew was
white, middle-class and conservative Christian. I am entirely grateful for my
upbringing and my education and I would not change anything at all given the
chance. But sometimes, when I look back and see that, I want to vomit.
I
am overwhelmed when I look at my life now, and back at the last five years, and
see conversations with bearded homeless men; car rides with hitchhikers and
their dogs; art parties in Korea with Americans, Canadians, Christians, Jews; sharing
coffee with abortion rights activists; accidentally attending a lesbian beach
bonfire (which for the record was maybe the most entertaining/fun bonfire of my
life).
I
am thankful for these interactions. I am thankful for the ‘Nons.’ The
non-believers. The non-whites. The non-middle-class. The non-'normal'. The dumpster divers.
Because
they make me see.
Don't forget the 4 potatoes, 3 other zucchini, ear of corn, & frozen broccoli! Good writing wosey:) i have a lot more comments actually but i'm not sure if they will fit in a box. maybe i should write a response blog...joshua is making dinner right now and says to tell you we are finishing off the last of our treasures and want to go diving again soon. he hasn't read this post yet though. also let's go swimming. love you! xoxo
ReplyDeleteAfter down-sizing my life, I've moved into an apartment situated right next to one of the complex's dumpsters. The dumpster is an amazing hub of activity - stuff goes in and stuff goes out daily. The garbage truck picks up whats left at the end of the week.
ReplyDeleteMy thoughts on dumpster diving are two-fold: First, it's a sad state of affairs that members of any community are so hungry.
Second, the amount of recycling and reusing that goes on, in and around dumpsters specifically, is a daily reminder (to me) keep my footprint small and share what I don't need or use anymore.
Thank you for an insightful article.