It ain't over until the fat cat sings
Dumpster Hopping Tales-
My dumpster episodes started when I was 11. We were moving from the south side
of Monroe Louisiana to the north side. Daddy was going through the dumpster
behind Zale’s Jewelry looking for boxes. When we got home we found 12 Gold
Bolivia Watches. Everyone we knew got a watch for Christmas in 1959. From then
on I have been hooked on dumpsters.
When I was 15 and could drive (I hate to admit this but) I needed gas money. Gas
was 30 cents a gallon. Bill and I would steal cases of coke bottles from behind
grocery stores. Then we would drive around to the front of the store and sell
the bottles for 5 cents each. This probably led to the use of disposable
bottles. One time Bill and I stole 7 cases of coke bottles from the rodeo arena
in Columbia Louisiana. When we got to the fishing camp on the mill pond in
Clarks, daddy’s good friend Floyd Slim Hodges, the high sheriff of Caldwell
Parish was there to greet us. He said, “Boy, you are in a heap of trouble. Your
daddy is going to whip your ass when you get home.” He was right. Slim made us
return to the grocery store, pay for the bottles, and return them to the rodeo.
I think I developed the honesty habit after that and I don’t think I have stolen
anything since. In 1990 I took a lie detector test as part of a Louisiana State
Police employment interview. The question have you ever stolen anything got me
into hot water. The guy said he had never seen such a zigzag line on a test.
In the 1970s when I was in the US Air Force stationed at Eglin AFB Florida near
Fort Walton Beach we lived in base housing. We were always broke because I was
paying alimony and child support. I went behind carpet stores and removed old
used carpets from the dumpsters. I vacuumed them, washed away the dog poop,
measured them, and advertised them in the local newspaper as carpet remnants. I
sold them faster than I could clean them at $35 each.
In the 1980s I moved to Denham Springs near Baton Rouge next door to my brother
Ricky. He was a motorcycle cop in Baton Rouge and had an office in the back of
Bon’ Marche Mall on Florida Boulevard. Ricky told me a funny story about one
time he parked his Harley in the back of the mall and walked in the back
entrance. A lady was coming out of the door with a baby and a cart full of items
that were not in shopping bags. She was shocked to see a policeman in uniform at
the back door. She asked if she could just return the items, Ricky said yes mam,
go return them right now and I want arrest you.
Ricky told me that he got all of his daughter Jennifer’s diapers from the
dumpsters behind the mall. Shoppers would remove a diaper from the pack on the
shelf and return the pack to the shelf. After he told me, I got all of Heather’s
diapers from the dumpsters. I also got fresh fruit, oranges, apples, and grapes.
I washed them of just in case. I got some shoes, blue jeans, and packs of
underwear. I wore them, sold them in garage sales, or gave them away as
Christmas presents. Several times I found like 30 pairs of new shoes that had
been cut up with razor blades. This is a terrible waste since there are so many
homeless and needy people out here.
I developed the habit of going through dumpsters for garage sale items. One of
the easiest finds was flower arrangements from dumpsters behind funeral homes. I
found lots of glass ware and other items in the dumpster behind the Salvation
Army in Washington Indiana when we lived there from 2002 until 2007. I got
kicked out of the dumpster 3 times and eventually they called the cops on us. I
argued that the court ruled that trash in the front yard or in a dumpster was
public property and could be used as evidence without a warrant. They threatened
to arrest me for littering and disturbing the peace, so I stopped dumpster
hopping behind the Salvation Army. I don’t have much spare time for garage sales
any more, but I still can’t resist peeking into a dumpster now and again. I
found this computer in one. And that is the rest of the story by Uncle George.
Be well. Do good work. And stay in touch. Email me
smokeschooo@yahoo.com if you like this story.
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It ain't over until the fat cat sings
