On Dumpster Diving meets Aphrodite

As we discuss narratives this week, let’s talk about description, particularly sensory description (smells, sounds, sights, tastes and touch) and using specific details (instead of generic details) to make things come to life. So begin with your first reaction to these pieces. What moved you or interested you or surprised you? As a writer learning from other writers, what did either of these pieces do well that you might want to do as well?

Then, in addition to talking about these pieces as ways to use the personal to make a point, I want you to consider HOW they are engaging the senses and “putting you into the scenes” with the specific use of details to further their personal narratives. Did this work (or not) for you and why?

Responses to at least 2 posts (in this thread) must be up by Friday at midnight.

Remember: An original post should be roughly 200 words. 

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On Dumpster Diving

LARS EIGHNER

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original source:
accessed 1-26-05

Lars Eighner was born in Corpus Christi, Texas, in 1946, and he later studied at the University of Texas. He worked as an
attendant and ward worker in a mental institution from 1980 to 1987 before finding himself homeless for three years. Travels
with Lizbeth (1993), the book that includes “On Dumpster Diving,” recounts these years. It began as letters to friends
explaining his circumstances and evolved into a series of essays on equipment that he had found in the garbage. Eighner
later sent the essays to the Threepenny Review for publication. “On Dumpster Diving” shows Eighner’s uniquely powerful
insights and unconventional, yet elegant, prose style, which is similar in some ways to the nineteenth-century fiction he
enjoys.

Long before I began Dumpster diving I was impressed with Dumpsters, enough so
that I wrote the Merriam-Webster research service to discover what I could about the
word “Dumpster.” I learned from them that “Dumpster” is a proprietary word belonging
to the Dempsey Dumpster company.

Since then I have dutifully capitalized the word although it was lowercased in
almost all of the citations Merriam-Webster photocopied for me. Dempsey’s word is too
apt. I have never heard these things called anything but Dumpsters. I do not know anyone
who knows the generic name for these objects. From time to time, however, I hear a wino
or hobo give some corrupted credit to the original and call them Dipsy Dumpsters.

I began Dumpster diving about a year before I became homeless.

I prefer the term “scavenging” and use the word “scrounging” when I mean to be
obscure. I have heard people, evidently meaning to be polite, using the word “foraging,”
but I prefer to reserve that word for gathering nuts and berries and such which I do also
according to the season and the opportunity. “Dumpster diving” seems to me to be a little
too cute and, in my case, inaccurate, because I lack the athletic ability to lower myself into
the Dumpsters as the true divers do, much to their increased profit.

I like the frankness of the word “scavenging,” which I can hardly think of without
picturing a big black snail on an aquarium wall. I live from the refuse of others. I am a
scavenger. I think it a sound and honorable niche, although if I could I would naturally
prefer to live the comfortable consumer life, perhaps—and only perhaps—as a slightly less
wasteful consumer owing to what I have learned as a scavenger.

While my dog Lizbeth and I were still living in the house on Avenue B in Austin, as
my savings ran out, I put almost all of my sporadic income into rent. The necessities of
daily life I began to extract from Dumpsters. Yes, we ate from Dumpsters. Except for
jeans, all my clothes came from Dumpsters. Boom boxes, candles, bedding, toilet paper,
medicine, books, a typewriter, a virgin male love doll, change sometimes amounting to

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many dollars: I have acquired many things from the Dumpsters.

I have learned much as a scavenger. I mean to put some of what I have learned
down here, beginning with the practical art of dumpster diving and proceeding to the
abstract.

What is safe to eat?

After all, the finding of objects is becoming something of an urban art. Even
respectable employed people will sometimes find something tempting sticking out of a
Dumpster or standing beside one. Quite a number of people, not all of them of the
bohemian type, are willing to brag that they found this or that piece in the trash. But
eating from Dumpsters is the thing that separates the dilettanti from the professionals.

Eating safely from the Dumpsters involves three principles: using the senses and
common sense to evaluate the condition of the found materials, knowing the Dumpsters
of a given area and checking them regularly, and seeking always to answer the question,
“Why was this discarded?”

Perhaps everyone who has a kitchen and a regular supply of groceries has, at one
time or another, made a sandwich and eaten half of it before discovering mold on the
bread or got a mouthful of milk before realizing the milk had turned. Nothing of the sort is
likely to happen to a Dumpster diver because he is constantly reminded that most food is
discarded for a reason. Yet a lot of perfectly good food can be found in Dumpsters.

Canned goods, for example, turn up fairly often in the Dumpsters I frequent. All
except the most phobic people would be willing to eat from a can even if it came from a
Dumpster. Canned goods are among the safest of foods to be found in dumpsters, but are
not utterly foolproof.

Although very rare with modern canning methods, botulism is a possibility. Most
other forms of food poisoning seldom do lasting harm to a healthy person. But botulism is
almost certainly fatal and often the first symptom is death. Except for carbonated
beverages, all canned goods should contain a slight vacuum and suck air when first
punctured. Bulging, rusty, dented cans and cans that spew when punctured should be
avoided, especially when the contents are not very acidic or syrupy.

Heat can break down the botulin, but this requires much more cooking than most
people do to canned goods. To the extent that botulism occurs at all, of course, it can
occur in cans on pantry shelves as well as in cans from Dumpsters. Need I say that home-
canned goods found in Dumpsters are simply too risky to be recommended.

From time to time one of my companions, aware of the source of my provisions,
will ask, “Do you think these crackers are really safe to eat?” For some reason it is most

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often the crackers they ask about.

The question always makes me angry. Of course I would not offer my companion
anything I had doubts about. But more than that I wonder why he cannot evaluate the
condition of the crackers for himself. I have no special knowledge and I have been wrong
before. Since he knows where the food comes from, it seems to me he ought to assume
some of the responsibility for deciding what he will put in his mouth.

For myself I have few qualms about dry foods such as crackers, cookies, cereal,
chips, and pasta if they are free of visible contaminates and still dry and crisp. Most often
such things are found in the original packaging, which is not so much a positive sign as it
is the absence of a negative one.

Raw fruits and vegetables with intact skins seem perfectly safe to me, excluding of
course the obviously rotten. Many are discarded for minor imperfections which can be
pared away. Leafy vegetables, grapes, cauliflower, broccoli, and similar things may be
contaminated by liquids and may be impractical to wash.

Candy, especially hard candy, is usually safe if it has not drawn ants. Chocolate is
often discarded only because it has become discolored as the cocoa butter de-emulsified.
Candying after all is one method of food preservation because pathogens do not like very
sugary substances.

All of these foods might be found in any Dumpster and can be evaluated with some
confidence largely on the basis of appearance. Beyond these are foods which cannot be
correctly evaluated without additional information.

I began scavenging by pulling pizzas out of the Dumpster behind a pizza delivery
shop. In general prepared food requires caution, but in this case I knew when the shop
closed and went to the Dumpster as soon as the last of the help left.

Such shops often get prank orders, called “bogus.” Because help seldom stays long
at these places pizzas are often made with the wrong topping, refused on delivery for
being cold, or baked incorrectly. The products to be discarded are boxed up because
inventory is kept by counting boxes: a boxed pizza can be written off an unboxed pizza
does not exist.

I never placed a bogus order to increase the supply of pizzas and I believe no one
else was scavenging in this Dumpster. But the people in the shop became suspicious and
began to retain their garbage in the shop overnight.

While it lasted I had a steady supply of fresh, sometimes warm pizza. Because I
knew the Dumpster I knew the source of the pizza, and because I visited the Dumpster
regularly I knew what was fresh and what was yesterday’s.

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The area I frequent is inhabited by many affluent college students. I am not here by
chance; the Dumpsters in this area are very rich. Students throw out many good things,
including food. In particular they tend to throw everything out when they move at the end
of a semester, before and after breaks, and around midterm when many of them despair
of college. So I find it advantageous to keep an eye on the academic calendar.

The students throw food away around the breaks because they do not know
whether it has spoiled or will spoil before they return. A typical discard is a half jar of
peanut butter. In fact non-organic peanut butter does not require refrigeration and is
unlikely to spoil in any reasonable time. The student does not know that, and since it is
Daddy’s money, the student decides not to take a chance.

Opened containers require caution and some attention to the question “Why was
this discarded?” But in the case of discards from student apartments, the answer may be
that the item was discarded through carelessness, ignorance, or wastefulness. This can
sometimes be deduced when the item is found with many others, including some that are
obviously perfectly good.

Some students, and others, approach defrosting a freezer by chucking out the
whole lot. Not only do the circumstances of such a find tell the story, but also the mass of
frozen goods stays cold for a long time and items may be found still frozen or freshly
thawed. Yogurt, cheese, and sour cream are items that are often thrown out while they are
still good. Occasionally I find a cheese with a spot of mold, which of course I just pare off,
and because it is obvious why such a cheese was discarded, I treat it with less suspicion
than an apparently perfect cheese found in similar circumstances.

Yogurt is often discarded, still sealed, only because the expiration date on the
carton has passed. This is one of my favorite finds because yogurt will keep for several
days, even in warm weather.

Students throw out canned goods and staples at the end of semesters and when
they give up college at midterm. Drugs, pornography, spirits, and the like are often
discarded when parents are expected—Dad’s day, for example. And spirits also turn up
after big party weekends, presumably discarded by the newly reformed. Wine and spirits,
of course, keep perfectly well even after opened.

My test for carbonated soft drinks is whether they still fizz vigorously. Many juices
or other beverages are too acid or too syrupy to cause much concern provided they are not
visibly contaminated. Liquids, however, require some care.

One hot day I found a large jug of Pat O’Brien’s Hurricane mix. The jug had been
opened, but it was still ice cold. I drank three large glasses before it became apparent to
me that someone had added the rum to the mix, and not a little rum. I never tasted the
rum and by the time I began to feel the effects I had already ingest-ed a very large
quantity of the beverage. Some divers would have considered this a boon, but being

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suddenly and thoroughly intoxicated in a public place in the early afternoon is not my idea
of a good time.

I have heard of people maliciously contaminating discarded food and even
handouts, but mostly I have heard of this from people with vivid imaginations who have
had no experience with Dumpsters themselves. Just before the pizza shop stopped
discarding its garbage at night, jalapenos began showing up on most of the discarded
pizzas. If indeed this was meant to discourage me it was a wasted effort because I am a
native Texan.

For myself, I avoid game, poultry, pork, and egg-based foods whether I find them
raw or cooked. I seldom have the means to cook what I find, but when I do I avail myself
of plentiful supplies of beef which is often in very good condition. I suppose fish becomes
disagreeable before it becomes dangerous. The dog is happy to have any such thing that is
past its prime and, in fact, does not recognize fish as food until it is quite strong.

Home leftovers, as opposed to surpluses from restaurants, are very often bad.
Evidently, especially among students, there is a common type of personality that carefully
wraps up even the smallest leftover and shoves it into the back of the refrigerator for six
months or so before discarding it. Characteristic of this type are the reused jars and
margarine tubs which house the remains.

I avoid ethnic foods I am unfamiliar with. If I do not know what it is supposed to
look like when it is good, I cannot be certain I will be able to tell if it is bad.

No matter how careful I am I still get dysentery at least once a month, oftener in
warm weather. I do not want to paint too romantic a picture. Dumpster diving has serious
drawbacks as a way of life.

I learned to scavenge gradually, on my own. Since then I have initiated several
companions into the trade. I have learned that there is a predictable series of stages a
person goes through in learning to scavenge.

At first the new scavenger is filled with disgust and self-loathing. He is ashamed of
being seen and may lurk around, trying to duck behind things, or he may try to dive at
night. (In fact, most people instinctively look away from a scavenger. By skulking around,
the novice calls attention to himself and arouses suspicion. Diving at night is ineffective
and needlessly messy.)

Every grain of rice seems to be a maggot. Everything seems to stink. He can wipe
the egg yolk off the found can, but he cannot erase the stigma of eating garbage out of his
mind.

That stage passes with experience. The scavenger finds a pair of running shoes that
fit and look and smell brand new. He finds a pocket calculator in perfect working order.

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He finds pristine ice cream, still frozen, more than he can eat or keep. He begins to
understand: people do throw away perfectly good stuff, a lot of perfectly good stuff.

At this stage, Dumpster shyness begins to dissipate. The diver, after all, has the last
laugh. He is finding all manner of good things which are his for the taking. Those who
disparage his profession are the fools, not he.

He may begin to hang onto some perfectly good things for which he has neither a
use nor a market. Then he begins to take note of the things which are not perfectly good
but are nearly so. He mates a Walkman with broken earphones and one that is missing a
battery cover. He picks up things which he can repair.

At this stage he may become lost and never recover. Dumpsters are full of things of
some potential value to someone and also of things which never have much intrinsic value
but are interesting. All the Dumpster divers I have known come to the point of trying to
acquire everything they touch. Why not take it, they reason, since it is all free.

This is, of course, hopeless. Most divers come to realize that they must restrict
themselves to items of relatively immediate utility. But in some cases the diver simply
cannot control himself. I have met several of these pack-rat types. Their ideas of the
values of various pieces of junk verge on the psychotic. Every bit of glass may be a
diamond, they think, and all that glistens, gold.

I tend to gain weight when I am scavenging. Partly this is because I always find far
more pizza and doughnuts than water-packed tuna, nonfat yogurt, and fresh vegetables.
Also I have not developed much faith in the reliability of Dumpsters as a food source,
although it has been proven to me many times. I tend to eat as if I have no idea where my
next meal is coming from. But mostly I just hate to see food go to waste and so I eat much
more than I should. Something like this drives the obsession to collect junk.

As for collecting objects, I usually restrict myself to collecting one kind of small
object at a time, such as pocket calculators, sun- glasses, or campaign buttons. To live on
the street I must anticipate my needs to a certain extent: I must pick up and save warm
bedding I find in August because it will not be found in Dumpsters in November. But even
if I had a home with extensive storage space I could not save everything that might be
valuable in some contingency.

I have proprietary feelings about my Dumpsters. As I have suggested, it is no
accident that I scavenge from Dumpsters where good finds are common. But my limited
experience with Dumpsters in other areas suggests to me that it is the population of
competitors rather than the affluence of the dumpers that most affects the feasibility of
survival by scavenging. The large number of competitors is what puts me off the idea of
trying to scavenge in places like Los Angeles.

Curiously, I do not mind my direct competition, other scavengers, so much as I

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hate the can scroungers.

People scrounge cans because they have to have a little cash. I have tried
scrounging cans with an able-bodied companion. Afoot a can scrounger simply cannot
make more than a few dollars a day. One can extract the necessities of life from the
Dumpsters directly with far less effort than would be required to accumulate the
equivalent value in cans.

Can scroungers, then, are people who must have small amounts of cash. These are
drug addicts and winos, mostly the latter because the amounts of cash are so small.

Spirits and drugs do, like all other commodities, turn up in dumpsters and the
scavenger will from time to time have a half bottle of a rather good wine with his dinner.
But the wino cannot survive on these occasional finds; he must have his daily dose to
stave off the DTs. All the cans he can carry will buy about three bottles of Wild Irish Rose.

I do not begrudge them the cans, but can scroungers tend to tear up the Dumpster,
mixing the contents and littering the area. They become so specialized that they can see
only cans. They earn my contempt by passing up change, canned goods, and readily hock-
able items.

There are precious few courtesies among scavengers. But it is a common practice to
set aside surplus items: pairs of shoes, clothing, canned goods, and such. A true scavenger
hates to see good stuff go to waste and what he cannot use he leaves in good condition in
plain sight.

Can scroungers lay waste to everything in their path and will stir so one of a pair of
good shoes to the bottom of a Dumpster, to be lost or ruined in the muck. Can scroungers
will even go through individual garbage cans, something I have never seen a scavenger do.

Individual garbage cans are set out on the public easement only on garbage days.
On other days going through them requires trespassing close to a dwelling. Going through
individual garbage cans without scattering litter is almost impossible. Litter is likely to
reduce the public’s tolerance of scavenging. Individual garbage cans are simply not as
productive as Dumpsters; people in houses and duplexes do not move as often and for
some reason do not tend to discard as much useful material. Moreover, the time required
to go through one garbage can that serves one household is not much less than the time
required to go through a Dumpster that contains the refuse of twenty apartments.

But likely strongest reservation about going through individual garbage cans is that
this seems to me a very personal kind of invasion to which I would object if I were a
householder. Although many things in Dumpsters are obviously meant never to come to
light, a Dumpster is somehow less personal.

I avoid trying to draw conclusions about the people who dump in the Dumpsters I

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frequent. I think it would be unethical to do so, although I know many people will find the
idea of scavenger ethics too funny for words.

Dumpsters contain bank statements, bills, correspondence, and other documents,
just as anyone might expect. But there are also less obvious sources of information. Pill
bottles, for example. The labels on pill bottles contain the name of the patient, the name
of the doctor, and the name of the drug. AIDS drugs and antipsychotic medicines, to name
but two groups, are specific and are seldom prescribed for any other disorders. The plastic
compacts for birth control pills usually have complete label information.

Despite all of this sensitive information, I have had only one apartment resident
object to my going through the Dumpster. In that case it turned out the resident was a
university athlete who was taking bets and was afraid I would turn up his wager slips.

Occasionally a find tells a story. I once found a small paper bag containing some
unused condoms, several partial tubes of flavored sexual lubricant, a partially used
compact of birth control pills, and the torn pieces of a picture of a young man. Clearly she
was through with him and planning to give up sex altogether.

Dumpster things are often sad—abandoned teddy bears, shredded wedding books,
despaired-of sales kits. I find many pets lying in state in Dumpsters. Although I hope to
get off the streets so that Lizbeth can have a long and comfortable old age, I know this
hope is not very realistic. So I suppose when her time comes she too will go into a
Dumpster. I will have no better place for her. And after all, for most of her life her
livelihood has come from the Dumpster. When she finds something I think is safe that has
been spilled into the Dumpster I let her have it. She already knows the route around the
best Dumpsters. I like to think that if she survives me she will have a chance of evading
the dog catcher and of finding her sustenance on the route.

Silly vanities also come to rest in the Dumpsters. I am a rather accomplished
needleworker. I get a lot of materials from the Dumpsters. Evidently sorority girls, hoping
to impress someone, perhaps themselves, with their mastery of a womanly art, buy a lot of
embroider-by-number kits, work a few stitches horribly, and eventually discard the whole
mess. I pull out their stitches, turn the canvas over, and work original designs. Do not
think I refrain from chuckling as I make original gifts from these kits.

I find diaries and journals. I have often thought of compiling a book of literary
found objects. And perhaps I will one day. But what I find is hopelessly commonplace and
bad without being, even unconsciously, camp. College students also discard their papers. I
am horrified to discover the kind of paper which now merits an “A” in an undergraduate
course. I am grateful, however, for the number of good books and magazines the students
throw out.

In the area I know best I have never discovered vermin in the Dumpster, but there
are two kinds of kitty surprise. One is alley cats which I meet as they leap, claws first, out

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of Dumpsters. This is especially thrilling when I have Lizbeth in tow. The other kind of
kitty surprise is a plastic garbage bag filled with some ponderous, amorphous mass. This
always proves to be used cat litter.

City bees harvest doughnut glaze and this makes the Dumpster at the doughnut
shop more interesting. My faith in the instinctive wisdom of animals is always shaken
whenever I see Lizbeth attempt to catch a bee in her mouth, which she does whenever
bees are present. Evidently some birds find Dumpsters profitable, for birdie surprise is
almost as common as kitty surprise of the first kind. In hunting season all kinds of small
game turn up in Dumpsters, some of it, sadly, not entirely dead. Curiously, summer and
winter, maggots are uncommon.

The worst of the living and near-living hazards of the Dumpsters are the fire ants.
The food that they claim is not much of a loss, but they are vicious and aggressive. It is
very easy to brush against some surface of the Dumpster and pick up half a dozen or more
fire ants, usually in some sensitive area such as the underarm. One advantage of bringing
Lizbeth along as I make Dumpster rounds is that, for obvious reasons, she is very alert to
ground-based fire ants. When Lizbeth recognizes the signs of fire ant infestation around
our feet she does the Dance of the Zillion Fire Ants. I have learned not to ignore this
warning from Lizbeth, whether I perceive the tiny ants or not, but to remove ourselves at
Lizbeth’s first pas de bourrée. All the more so because the ants are the worst in the
months I wear flip-flops, if I have them.

(Perhaps someone will misunderstand the above. Lizbeth does the Dance of the
Zillion Fire Ants when she recognizes more fire ants than she cares to eat, not when she is
being bitten. Since I have learned to react promptly, she does not get bitten at all. It is the
isolated patrol of fire ants that falls in Lizbeth’s range that deserve pity. Lizbeth finds
them quite tasty.)

By far the best way to go through a Dumpster is to lower yourself into it. Most of
the good stuff tends to settle at the bottom because it is usually weightier than the
rubbish. My more athletic companions have often demonstrated to me that they can
extract much good material from a Dumpster I have already been over.

To those psychologically or physically unprepared to enter a Dumpster, I
recommend a stout stick, preferably with some barb or hook at one end. The hook can be
used to grab plastic garbage bags. When I find canned goods or other objects loose at the
bottom of a Dumpster I usually can roll them into a small bag that I can then hoist up.
Much Dumpster diving is a matter of experience for which nothing will do except practice.

Dumpster diving is outdoor work, often surprisingly pleasant. It is not entirely
predictable; things of interest turn up every day and some say there are finds of great
value. I am always very pleased when I can turn up exactly the thing I most wanted to
find. Yet in spite of the element of chance, scavenging more than most other pursuits
tends to yield returns in some proportion to the effort and intelligence brought to bear. It

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is very sweet to turn up a few dollars in change from a Dumpster that has just been gone
over by a wino.

The land is now covered with cities. The cities are full of Dumpsters. I think of
scavenging as a modern form of self-reliance. In any event, after ten years of government
service, where everything is geared to the lowest common denominator, I find work that
rewards initiative and effort refreshing. Certainly I would be happy to have a sinecure
again, but I am not heartbroken not to have one anymore.

I find from the experience of scavenging two rather deep lessons. The first is to
take what I can use and let the rest go by. I have come to think that there is no value in the
abstract. A thing I cannot use or make useful, perhaps by trading, has no value however
fine or rare it may be. I mean useful in a broad sense—so, for example, some art I would
think useful and valuable, but other art might be otherwise for me.

I was shocked to realize that some things are not worth acquiring, but now I think
it is so. Some material things are white elephants that eat up the possessor’s substance.

The second lesson is of the transience of material being. This has not quite
converted me to a dualist, but it has made some headway in that direction. I do not
suppose that ideas are immortal, but certainly mental things are longer-lived than other
material things.

Once I was the sort of person who invests material objects with sentimental value.
Now I no longer have those things, but I have the sentiments yet.

Many times in my travels I have lost everything but the clothes I was wearing and
Lizbeth. The things I find in Dumpsters, the love letters and ragdolls of so many lives,
remind me of this lesson. Now I hardly pick up a thing without envisioning the time I will
cast it away. This I think is a healthy state of mind. Almost everything I have now has
already been cast out at least once, proving that what I own is valueless to someone.

Anyway, I find my desire to grab for the gaudy bauble has been largely sated. I
think this is an attitude I share with the very wealthy—we both know there is plenty more
where what we have came from. Between us are the rat-race millions who have
confounded their selves with the objects they grasp and who nightly scavenge the cable
channels looking for they know not what.

I am sorry for them.