Lady Dumps

Photos by Nicki Ishmael

I am what you would call a “late bloomer.” I lost my virginity at 19, did cocaine for the first time at 28, and just started getting emails on my phone this week. What I’m trying to say is, have you guys heard of this awesome rapper Mos Def? You have GOT to get into him! Just kidding. But due to my lag in the space-time continuum, it is only fitting that I became interested in dumpster diving way after everyone else.

It all started with my best friend, the clown. I’m not being hyperbolic, Jeff literally went to clown school in Paris. Whenever he calls me to hang out it’s never, “Do you wanna grab a drink?” it’s more like, “Do you wanna come to a naked magic show in the basement of a squatter house?” Needless to say, hanging out with Jeff is always an adventure. Which is why, when he casually mentioned dumpster diving, I offered to come along. “You?” he choked. “You would hate it, you’re the snobbiest person I know.” I immediately took off my white glove and smacked him. “Who? Moi? I went to public school Jeff! I’m pretty fuckin’ street.” Now that he practically double-dog dared me I HAD to go with him to garbage-pick for food. True, it’s not really “my thing” but I like doing things that make me uncomfortable (except butt stuff).

The dumpster diving experiment got more interesting when a new friend invited me to a potluck later in the week. While debating what to bring to the dinner it hit me like a disgusting wet bag of trash. Urethra! What if I bring food from the dumpster dive? Dinner parties can be so tame—at least we’ll bring some fun scandal. Martha Stewart would roll over in her grave! I know she’s not dead yet, I’m talking spiritually!

The night of the food hunt I chose my outfit carefully. I put on my sexiest trash-casual: black hoodie, blue jean jeggings, and a big canvas tote for the goods. Unfortunately, the only bag I had was from the pricey boutique In God We Trust. So, basically, it looked like I was eating from the trash to fund my out-of-control clothes problem (#nycliving). I left my apartment at 11 PM dressed like a rich ninja and headed into the city.

As soon as we got off the subway we hustled to a Starbucks on Sixth Avenue. Flanked on all sides by chic New Yorkers heading to parties and openings, I suddenly got self-conscious. Jeff, who has never been embarrassed a day in his life, started ripping into trash bags. “What? Right here?” I asked, horrified.

“Yeah, here,” he said. I'd imagined us in some abandoned parking lot where no one could see us, not on one of busiest streets in Manhattan. We were literally four blocks away from my last office job. I pictured my old boss walking by, noticing me, and saying, “Rose, is that you? Is everything OK?” My entire arm shoved into a black trash bag, I'd reply, “Hi Ryan! Things are GREAT! My writing career is really taking off and I just found this expired string cheese. It’s all happening!”

Trying to overcome my ego, I put on my plastic gloves and tentatively approached the garbage. All I found were wet coffee grinds and empty milk cartons—nothing too traumatizing. Gleaning alongside us was a middle-aged activist straight out of Haight-Ashberry. She had a mangy dog, wore a rainbow headband, and had a collage of political pins on her denim vest. She offered us some cake pops wrapped in plastic and I asked her about the pins. “This one is Leonard Peltier,” she said, “a Native American political prisoner. He is being held on false charges even though everyone knows he is innocent. It’s crazy, they won’t release him but then they pardon all these evil billionaire Jews.” Exsqueeze me? Did she not get a good look at us? Jeff and I both have major Chanukkah faces. My profile would make a plastic surgeon horny. Things got weird at Starbucks so we split for our next destination.

The next stop on our route was a major supermarket. When we arrived the employees were loading bags of old food into the van of a charity. “Jeff, look, they are giving away all the leftover food," I said, "we are not gonna find anything in the trash.”

“Oh no, you can still find stuff, you just REALLY have to get in there.”

Yuck. While we were waiting for the employees to bring out the garbage we noticed another group of people lingering. It was the competition. They were mostly middle-aged women. We could totally take them. After a couple of minutes, they started bringing out the trash and I was prepared for a subway-style mosh pit of pushing and shoving. But none of that happened—quite the opposite, in fact.

“I found a whole bag of strawberries!” a sweet lady proclaimed. She tossed a few boxes into our cart. “Does anyone like eggplant?” a young woman asked. We all took turns calling out and sharing our finds and soon I forgot my embarrassment. To quote my obscenely hot yoga teacher: I found my flow. After Jeff hit the jackpot and found ten jars of marinara sauce we were officially done. We had more than enough for the party and it was getting late.

The next night Jeff came to my house with the goods. We were bringing three boxes of expired rugelach and a couple of packaged bean salads, also past due. We put the salads in nice white bowls to make them more presentable and agreed to let everyone know the unsavory origins of the food. On our walk to the party, I got a little anxious. This idea was funny in my head, but now that it was really happening, it felt wrong. When we got to the apartment, Andrew, the host, gave us a tour. The apartment was spacious, well-decorated and tasteful. These were legitimate adults. Fuck me. I only knew one person there and the rest were a motley crew of accomplished filmmakers and academics. I looked for open windows or an emergency exit in case I had to make a shamescape.

After we introduced ourselves we headed over to the buffet area where the food was laid out. I reached into the shopping bag to pull out our contribution. Andrew spied our bean salads and commented, “Oh, that looks good.”

I shared a glance with Jeff and then broke the news: “It came from the trash. We went went dumpster diving yesterday.” And then… silence. No one said a word for like five minutes (aka two seconds). Just as I was about to hari kari myself with a kitchen knife Andrew started cracking up.

“That is HILARIOUS,” he cried. “Are you serious? Where the hell did you go?” He was laughing so hard he could barely talk. Then all of a sudden everyone started chiming in with their own stories about the first time they went dumpster diving, AGES ago in college. People ate our food along with everything else and It was officially NO BIG DEAL. I was relieved but also annoyed. Come on guys, don’t you think we’re subversive? I felt like I just debuted a new eyebrow ring. Everyone was so over it.

@rosesurnow