glad you’re doing good now. just as a little secret, I still dumpster dive to this day honestly… it’s how I got every piece of furniture in my house except my bed. gotta save where ya can lol.
Comment on Anon doesn't have a plan
VitoRobles@lemmy.today 5 hours agoMe at 22. Was homeless as well. I make decent money now almost twenty years later and I still look at prices and think back when I used to dumpster dive.
FeelThePower@lemmy.dbzer0.com 5 hours ago
Regrettable_incident@lemmy.world 4 hours ago
Back in the day, I used to eat pretty well out of dumpsters. Wasn’t really homeless, was living in an old caravan, but was proper broke.
These days, at least round here, they lock up the dumpsters, have security guards, or deliberately contaminate the food. Wankers.
Washedupcynic@lemmy.ca 1 hour ago
The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit- and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains. And the smell of rot fills the country. Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putrescence drip down into the earth.
There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificate- died of malnutrition- because the food must rot, must be forced to rot. The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quick-lime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.