When my parents left me behind, thank God!, at Pacific Union College in eighth grade (1980) so that I could finish the school year with my friends, my friend taught me to dumpster dive behind the market for old donuts, cakes, pies, cookies and the like. They were magnificent.
My friend liked to dumpster dive behind the Post Office for pornography but I was afraid of indulging that appetite so I wouldn’t look.
One time, he was dumpster diving behind the men’s dorm circa 10th grade, when campus police drove up and asked what we were doing. The police knew my friend, knew his parents, and they knew what he was looking for. They were cool. They left him alone once they ascertained he wasn’t making a mess. He was just going through the mess looking for the gold, and he found some, but I was too holy to look.
I would never have known about the delights to be found in the dumpster if my friend hadn’t clued me in.
