Dumpster Diving for Fun & Profit

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

Molly was distracted from the pot of chili she always seemed to be preparing by the clamorous clatter at her kitchen door.

Licking the spoon with which she had been stirring the concoction, she replaced it on the spoon rest and stepped to the door. Opening it wide, she was unsurprised to find there her neighbor and frequent visitor Agnes, who immediately thrust a large can of Del Monte stewed tomatoes into her hands. Molly blinked down at the offering, accepted it, and then placed it on a shelf along with at least forty similar cans dating back some years. It was what Molly whimsically referred to as her “antique comestible” collection. She could always count on Agnes, she thought with a sigh. Unbidden, Agnes lunged through the door.

“What are you doing, Molly?” she demanded. “Do you know what day it is?” Molly thought for a moment, running through the possibilities.

“November 25th?” she ventured. “Friday?” She shrugged again. “I give up.”

“It’s Black Friday,” said Agnes in a stage whisper. Molly looked confused.

“Is that a new African American holiday?” she asked, puzzled. Impatiently, Agnes waved this away.

“Certainly not, Molly Bell! It’s the first day of the Christmas shopping season,” she revealed. “And do you know what we have to do today?” She stared expectantly at her friend.

“Shop for Christmas?” asked Molly timidly.

Agnes frowned unhappily. Molly was acting rather cluelessly, she thought.

“No, silly person,” Agnes admonished her friend. “Black Friday is the day the stores throw out all their old food and restock their aisles with new food.” Agnes spread his hands wide as if to say, “Get it?” Molly nodded, understanding it a little bit.

She asked, “So today we can go to the store and buy totally fresh foodstuffs?” Agnes rolled her eyes.

“No, Molly,” she said impatiently. “Black Friday is the day we can go to the big box stores and get all that perfectly good stuff they carelessly discarded in their dumpsters—we don’t have to buy anything! Molly slowly nodded in comprehension.

“Dumpster diving, you mean?” Molly conjectured. If she were insulted by the term, Agnes gave no sign. Agnes was a notorious dumpster diver, known by police departments far and wide for her exploits. She considered her reputation a badge of honor.

“C’mon, Molly,” she urged. “Let’s go. I’ve got all the paraphernalia in the car.” Molly looked at her simmering chili, and Agnes said, “You can leave it on low; we won’t be gone long.” Molly turned down the flame on the chili, gathered her jacket, and soon they were out the door, speeding to Walmart.

Arriving at the parking lot, the pair observed an impressive array of green-painted dumpsters chock full of slightly but gently used food. Divesting themselves of their automobile, Molly and Agnes stood watching the first massive dumpster; one could almost see a fetid effluvium wafting upwards from the huge container. Late-season insects buzzed about the apertures.

“Well,” murmured Molly self-consciously, “as long as we’re here…” and she took a tentative step in the direction of the big waste container. But Agnes called her back.

“Wait, Molly,” barked the other woman. “You have to put on your gear first!” Molly looked back at her. There she found Agnes, holding up a pair of tall rubber waders, a fencing mask, and a large can of Raid insect repellent. Moments later, duly outfitted, the duo, with the aid of a collapsible ladder kept inside Agnes’s car, scaled the dumpster and stood looking out over its broad expanses. Agnes eagerly licked her lips.

Molly, in contrast, looked rather uncertain. “What do you think we should take first?” she asked.

“Stewed tomatoes,” her friend answered at once. “Second,” she went on, “grab the chili beans—unopened if possible—and third, anything frozen!” And suiting the action to the word, Agnes climbed to the top of the dumpster and stood teetering on the rim a moment before launching herself into space. She landed with a Splat! in the dumpster’s interior.

“Darn it,” she muttered darkly.

“What happened?” asked Molly. “Are you alright? What did you find?”

“Watermelons!” answered Agnes, glowering distastefully. She snapped first one foot and then the other, dislodging the melons and sending them flying through the air, where one of them struck Molly upside the head, nearly knocking her from the dumpster’s edge. Unmindful of Molly’s situation, Agnes snapped, “Give me your trash bag, Molly. I want to load up these canned goods.” Agnes’s arms worked like pistons, filling the huge leaf bag, then she hoisted it up to Molly, whereupon the thin plastic container burst, leaving all the heavy cans to fall back into the depths of the dumpster.

“Oh my,” murmured Molly. “Those aren’t very good trash bags,” she suggested. “Where did you get them?”

Agnes frowned unhappily. “At Target,” she replied. After a moment’s hesitation, she continued, “in their dumpster.”

Molly didn’t say anything. After scavenging at a half dozen other dumpsters, the pair quit the parking lot and journeyed homeward. Arriving at Molly’s back door, the homeowner became instantly alarmed.

“My chili!” she yelped excitedly. “It’s burning!”

Agnes craned her neck to look into the pot and tsked.

“That’s too bad, Molly,” she sympathized. “I’ll tell you what: I’ll leave you some cans of beans and tomatoes, and you can make some more. I’ve even got some hamburger from Walmart,” she said temptingly. But Molly recalled the green-hued ground beef they’d gotten at the dumpster and begged off.

“Thanks, Agnes, I’ll be alright.”

“What are you going to do with the burnt chill?” asked her friend.

Molly shrugged. “Dump it.”

Agnes nodded, but her eyes, had Molly only noticed them, held a decided gleam. The ladies said their goodnights, and Agnes left, closing the door behind her. Some time later, in the utility area at the back of her palatial estate, Molly placed the pot of burned chili on the lip of the dumpster and slowly poured the foul concoction into the dumpster, muttering disconsolately. “I guess not every dumpster diving excursion is a profitable one.”

A mysterious figure, wreathed in shadow, sat in the depths of the trash receptacle, holding up a plastic bowl, into which the spent chili had flowed. “That’s what you think, Molly Bell,” cackled Agnes, sticking a finger into the still warm chili and taking a taste.

Bill Tope