and the dumpster gods laugh

I’ve been thinking about dumpster diving a lot lately. So here is a little diddy from my early days of German trash picking.

Sometime in 2005…

It was on the walk home that I saw the red plastic box in a dumpster. A little bit bigger than a shoebox, a loud bright red. I’d seen it a few days before, but imagining the woman with the stroller passing by just then calling Janet. to tell her that she should pay her au pair more because she just saw her rooting through the trash stayed my hand. But at 3:30 a.m. and a little buzzed? Fuck it, that box is mine.

But when Heather and I got home I got distracted by the food in the kitchen and left the box in the foyer. Forgot about it completely. Until today. Until today when I walk into the pantry and see the red box. Holding the potatoes. The dumpstered plastic box, holding the potatoes of the richest people I’ve ever met. Let me repeat: the rich-as-fuck German mafia family is using a DUMPSTERED RED BOX TO STORE THEIR POTATOES. And they have no idea.

Dumpster gods: 1. Rich bastards: 0. Sweet.

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