Dumpster Diving

Remembering the early days...the days of dumpster diving. Oh, how I loved dumpster diving. I found so many "treasures" in those dumpsters: old ladies' purses, losing sweepstakes tickets, boxes that could made into forts...the list was endless. Yes, while all the other children of the neighborhood were playing on the playground, I was huddled inside a dumpster looking for the next treasure to drag home.

It's not as if I didn't have plenty of toys. My mother can vouch for the closet crammed full of toys and everything else that I was required to "pick up off the floor" during the routine room cleaning. But, see, it wasn't about not having enough; it was about what I could find. It was the adventure of it all. It's amazing what people throw away. I mean, how could someone throw away a 90-year-old purse with a broken latch and missing strap? Oh, and that losing sweepstakes ticket? Well, that was just too cool. It was something I had never seen before as a 7-year-old child. Can you blame me?

But dumpster diving was always about finding treasures. No, sometimes it was fun to set them on fire. However, I learned early on that it's best to be on the OUTside of the dumpster before throwing the match. See...I learned something from my dumpster diving, so it can't all be bad!

However, watching the flames shoot out of the dumpster wasn't the only fun part. I loved the adrenaline of running from the dumpster and hiding behind a bush before anyone noticed it was on fire. Then, the neighborhood people would gather as the fire trucks arrived to douse the flames. I would laugh, maniacally, at the disturbance I had caused. Hey, we lived in a boring town...c'mon.

But then the bad part would come. Some how, some way, they would figure out it was I whom had started the fire. I would try hiding in my room and acting like I knew nothing of the chaos outside. Quietly, I sat, reading a book. Couldn't be me, I'm reading -- quietly -- in my room. Just minding my own business, see? Darn! They got me!

Of course, a lecture and punishment would follow. I always opted for the spanking since grounding meant staying in the house and not being able to reek any more havoc on the neighborhood. Lesson learned? None, of course. Hell, I was 7 years old. I was invincible.

 

Stacey Lloyd
Created: 7/5/2005
Photo © Josh Ulfers