Practically There

Dumpster Diving and the Meaning of Life

Dumpster diving is an art. Oh, yeah, there is something I'll bet that you never wanted to know about me. I am known, in certain circles, as something of a dumpster diva. Yes, in fact I do most of my holiday shopping for the in-laws at that the local landfill. All right, that was a lie, but it was a funny lie. Sort of. Now, I am not talking about the practice of sifting through refuse from offices or technical organizations looking for discarded manuals or office equipment with the intent of gathering confidential information, or data that could possibly compromise security (this apparently is also known as Dumpster Diving. Copy-cats!) Oh, contraire. This plunging into the abyss of the surplus and the squandered involves vision, creativity, patience and sometimes rubber boots. There is never nefarious intent in this activity, although I did once see a tug of war between two strapping women for a lovely brocade winged-back Queen Anne chair in ecru and oxblood at the community transfer station. But that is generally not the norm. No, the point of this pastime is not so much competition or contention as much as it is the hunt; the quest for hidden treasure, the calling of abandoned bounty. Dare I say, quite simply, the eternal search for "just really cool stuff" (stuff that, by and large, your husband will roll his eyes at and make you promise to bring back to where you found it).
I am by no means an authority on the subject, in fact by dumpster diving standards I am something of a novice, a proletarian prospector. You see, I have never actually taken the plunge, as it were, into a dumpster. Oh, sure I've looked in a few, but thus far I have pretty much patronized only curbsides, the transfer station and a couple of roll-offs that were filled with construction debris (stair spindles make great candlesticks and old windows are perfect picture frames, fyi). I have heard tell that there are hordes of people out there just knee deep in trash experiencing the thrill of discovery at the unearthing of discarded riches. Not to mention that it can be fairly lucrative. I myself have taken most of the items that I have come across (rocking chairs, dressing table, hutch, desks, and an armoire), repaired them if necessary, sanded them, painted or stained them and then sold them in a garage sale for a tidy little sum of money. Not too shabby for a few hours and a little elbow grease.
Evidently die hard divers can and do find anything and everything, some even dive for food stuffs (OK, this is where I draw a line - there is a serious "ick" factor involved in foraging for food in a big ol' vat-o-rubbish, but, hey, what ever floats you boat!) There are (as I did a little Googling before writing this) actually quite a few websites devoted to this recreation. Many of them have some good advice for tenderfoot cast-off connoisseurs such as checking your local ordinances to see if it is legal in your area, never trespass on private property, don't make a mess, bring anti-bacterial wipes, and this is important, MAKE SURE THAT WHATEVER YOU ARE TAKING IS NO LONGER WANTED!!! Little story; years ago when the kids were young I had put a wooden bench out next to the basketball hoop for the kids to sit on when they weren't playing or they were having their freezey-pops or whatever. The point is that the bench was on a segment of land that could have been construed as close to the road but clearly on my property. Well, one evening the tots came in from playing B-ball (at that age is was really more like P-O-N-Y) to eat dinner and when they went back out (and this took me a little while to figure out what was different about the front landscape) the bench was gone. It would seem that someone had taken a fancy to it and thought that it might look better on his or her front lawn. Well, Mr. (Mrs., Ms.?) Bench-taker-person, your days of anonymity are numbered. Oh sure, it's been years and I barely remember what that bench looked like and sure the kids didn't use it all that much and sure it didn't cost me anything BUT mark my words I will hunt you down like a rabid dog and I'm not sure just what I will do but it will be excessive and ghastly and wholly unpleasant. No it won't. That tirade exhausted me. Tell you what - I will just go find another wooden bench next to a curb somewhere; a bench that someone DOESN"T want anymore and we'll call it a day. Fair enough?

*Note - I never did get to tell you how dumpster diving ties into the totality of the universe and its implications for the collective consciousness and greater good of humanity…oh well, maybe another time.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure." - Anonymous