One Man's Trash = Another Man's Feast

So I was sitting on the banks of Kearcher Creek reading Searching for a God to Love by Chris Blake with my dear not-yet-month-old Juniper (new bicycle! Ginny for short) when a wandering idea crawled its way into my wandering mind. I grinned and rose with a stretch, stowed the book in my makeshift pannier, and made off for the dumpsters of Kings Market.

Yes. Mark the date: the thirteenth of April, two thousand and eight, the day of my first dumpster dive.

It was strangely exhilarating to dig through the mess of bags bulging with empty juice boxes and unneeded receipts. I felt like I was doing something good for the world. It's not that I was hungry or needed the food. It was just curiosity that drove me, along with the knowledge that I'll probably need to do this again this summer to survive. But there was still this bit of apprehension or shame or whatever it was that made me walk away innocently when I saw shoppers sauntering to their nearby automobiles. And among the broken eggs and burst yogurt containers I found my prizes of slightly outdated Lays Chips and Lemonade Tea.

Most of the good food (i.e. fruits & veggies) were in this massive mechanical compacter that just barely let me see that full package of cherry tomatoes shining back at me through a slit. I decided not to reach my arm inside, for fear of it getting chopped off by the machinery. It just seems like a shame for all that food to be wasted. Peppers and carrots and full bags of spinach—it almost hurt to not take anything.

So with a slightly fuller belly and lighter heart Ginny & I pedaled homeward, but not without stopping at the Taco Bell (and their massive vat of grease—biodiesel!). But it was at the McDonalds that I found the real surprise. I saw that someone else was nearby. "Probably an employee," thought I, and went closer to talk.

The man was medium sized, covered in a dirty Cabela's jacket and dirtier jeans, with a scruffy slight-beard and honest eyes. He held a large jug of water. I offered him a bag of the chips I had found. He took it and thanked me. I asked him where he lived. "Outside." He told me he lived alone. His name is Lee. He thanked me again and tromped off with his water to peruse the Dunkin Donuts bins.

My eyes followed him as he walked back. I will find him again.