Ways to Avoid Writing My Paper- #29 Go Dumpster Diving

From 100 Ways to Avoid Writing My Term Paper

#29 Go Dumpster Diving:

There’s an old saying that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. I’m not exactly sure whether that holds any truth or not, but I do know that you can learn an awful lot about people by a quick look at their trash. Me for instance, I’ve got a lot of old papers of schemes of me trying to take over the world (and a couple Hershey bar wrappers to fuel my maniacal planning). My sister, she’s got a lot of tissues and toilet paper rolls because she’s always sick and blowing her nose. And my suitemates, well, bottles. And more bottles. A couple scraps of campus food not worth saving, maybe some old notes no longer needed. And then another bottle.

It’s interesting to see what people throw away sometimes, and especially interesting when it’s something big and out of the ordinary. And sometimes, the best place to find garbage is down the side of a mountain.

It’s a beautiful day in March, one of those days just before the end of winter but it’s miraculously jumped up to fifty something degrees already. It’s the kind of day where you’re sure spring is here and have already changed into shorts and no one can tell you otherwise. I’ve got no class, no worries, and after a very quick shift at work I’m ready to go out and enjoy the day. I start off wandering the campus, which is nice enough, but I’ve been trapped here almost all winter. I want to get out, and if there’s one place to go when it’s nice out and you’ve got nothing to do, it’s up to the mountains.

Brian and I decide to head out after he gets back from class, looking to take advantage of the day and the chance for some neat photo ops. Brian’s a lot more experienced with cameras than I am, so it’s a good chance to learn a little something too. We’re up to the first lookout, we grab our cameras and start snapping away. After about five minutes, I realize two things: first, it’s about twenty degrees cooler on top of the mountain. Makes sense in hindsight. Second, it’s a lot cloudier than I’d realized. Not extremely conducive to picture taking. That’s alright though, we hang out for a little bit and pack up and move to on the second outlook.

This is the outlook everyone goes to for mountain pictures. Seated the edge of Minnewaska State Park, it overlooks the Catskills in the distance and the valley below. In autumn, everyone flocks to the sight for pictures of the changing leaves of the forest. At sunset, people pull over for the quintessential sunset picture they’ve already taken here a dozen times. But as we stare out down the snow dotted mountain, we spot something rather… unusual.

“Is… that a fucking couch?” Brian asks.

I look down about thirty feet or so to see a rather ugly grayish couch contrasting the snow and branches and once you’ve found it, sticking out like sore thumb.

“I think so,” I respond.

I zoom in on it with the camera lens. It’s not really worth a picture, but it is worth trying to get a closer look. After all, this isn’t something you’d usually find at the bottom of a mountain. Unfortunately, my lens isn’t that great at zooming in, and seeing as we didn’t bring a pair of binoculars we have to be satisfied with the view we’ve got. Although, I’m not entirely satisfied. And as it turns out, neither is Brian.

Brian and I are both struck with curiosity and awe at this 80’s artifact, and although really it’s just a couch at the bottom of a hill, in a way, it’s more than that. It’s a piece of abstract art purposely designed and placed to enhance the natural beauty of the serene winter landscape. Or more likely, tossed over by a bunch of ignorant country hicks or frat boys who had no more use for a couch and were too lazy to dispose of it properly. Whatever the reason though, there the couch sat, and from there it called to us.

What happens next, I have to admit, is kind of my fault. We joke that a couch like that deserves a proper home, and we could easily find a home for it in the suite. Sure it’s a little dirty, a little wet, and it’s probably got rodents living in it. But, so’s the rest of the suite. Naturally, I dare Brian to go down and sit on it. And so, Brian starts going a little bit of the way down. I’m sure he doesn’t intend on actually going all the way. I wouldn’t. But when the mountain’s still icy and it’s a fifty-degree slope down, going only a little ways down ceases to be an option real quick. Next thing you know, Brian’s on his ass thirty feet down the mountain, next to the great and legendary couch.

First thing I do, of course, is laugh at him. It’s an incredibly embarrassing slip up, but one that I’m partly responsible for. After the embarrassing Snapchat video and a minute or two to breathe again, I decide I should probably help him up. Brian of course, stupid enough to bring himself down the mountain, was also stupid enough to bring his nice camera down with him. According to him, saving the equipment is the first and foremost responsibility. I quickly agree; he’d probably survive a lot longer than the camera in the wild, and if I had to leave one at the bottom of the mountain I might very possibly choose the scenario where I end up with a free camera. He slowly starts to shuffle up the mountain side and I try and meet him halfway without slipping myself. Magically, I manage to grab the camera and bring it up safe to the car. Then I return for Brian.

The first thing that comes to me is the scene from The Lion King. You know, that one. The one where Scar throws Mufasa off the cliff with a smirk that says I’ve been waiting for this my entire life and reveals himself to be the most badass villain in Disney history. I find myself a few feet down the mountain, about where it was where Brian slipped in the first place. Unlike The Lion King, I fully intend to help him up. I reach my hand out to grab him. And, in a twist of fate (or at least, karma), I end up doing the exact same stupid move as Brian. I slip down, knocking Brian with me, both of us back at the bottom with that damn couch.

Looking at it, it’s not a bad couch. It’s old, sure, and kind of ugly. It’s got these weird dots which I assume are part of the design but just as likely mouse poop. The plaid stripes are a nice touch, though it’s not really my style when it comes to outdoor furniture. But the couch isn’t the only thing I notice. I turn to my left in amazement to see a glimpse of what I can assume is a whole stockpile of leftover trash. There’s computer monitors, shelves and desks, candy wrappers, all kinds of interesting things. It’s very likely a garbage wonderland.

I’d love to explore, but right now, the focus should probably be getting back up to safety. We’re not in any danger, of course, but our butts are cold and it’s not exactly ideal to have slidden down an icy mountain into this heaping pile of trash. It’s not so much dangerous as much as… embarrassing. Two stupid college kids at the bottom of hill. Fortunately, or unfortunately, we’re no longer alone. Three other guys, which I assume are also students, find us at the top of the mountain. They too, were probably attracted by the couch and trying to find something to do on the beautiful day. With a bird’s eye view, they look around and try and direct the two of us to a different route up; a little longer, but a lot less steep. We shuffle our way back up, through the snow and past the giant trash heap back to the summit and the road. Going this way, it’s not so hard getting back up.

We thank them, and start talking casually about the garbage graveyard below and all the wonderful surprises lie down there. Now, I realize that I convinced Brian to make a pretty dumb decision. Then I made that same dumb decision. You’d think that’d be enough dumb decisions for the day. But no. It wasn’t.

These guys are pretty intrigued by the massive heap of left behind garbage, furniture, and thrown away knick-knacks. Like an undiscovered pirate’s treasure, the legend calls out to them. They see the couch, of course, but they know there’s so much more below the surface. It’s too much. Soon enough, the three decide to head down themselves, the same path that Brian and I went up, to hunt for the treasure themselves. Now having spent a bit of time in the pits myself, I realize they’ll need an experienced guide. Brian, being smart and having learned his lesson, stays up by the car admiring the spectacle, while the four of us now venture into the great unknown. Cutting through thorny branches, tip-toeing across slippery and dangerous slopes, it really is an Indiana Jones escapade. I’m wearing shorts, and it takes a lot of willpower to plow through the thorns and snow as we venture forward. We tire, but persevere, carefully traversing down the mountain and to the legendary dumpsite. As we arrive, we quickly discover it’s no ordinary treasure sight: it’s freaking El Dorado.

All kinds of interesting scraps decorate the alpine slope, from home crafted furniture, to old and ancient technologies. There’s an old bookshelf, in decent enough condition where it could potentially be repaired if one had the motivation to lug it up the mountain. Old CDs of bands from the 80’s and 90’s, and though most are by now broken there’s probably one that could still be used with the old radio set nearby. There’s at least four computers, not just the monitors but the whole operating system, and enough variety where you could probably set them up chronologically for a museum. If I’d thought about it, I could probably take them up and get them scrapped for a little change. A kayak which I almost considered bringing up to the top of the mountain and sledding myself back down with again (fortunately I was already at my limit of dumb decisions for the day). There were musical instruments, cooking utensils, what I think was an old microscope, and naturally, a ton of beer bottles. It’s sad, in a way, knowing how ignorant people can be to just toss their old garbage into nature and turn it into their own personal dump. But at the same time, it’s actually a lot of fun to discover everything and go through it.

Then we come across the most interesting, and most terrifying, part of the collection. It’s almost on accident, actually, blending in slightly with the snow. But I’m ransacking an old desk, one of the other guys stumbles upon a small but fairly significant pile of bones. I move in for a closer look. There’s no obvious head, tail, or anything that would distinguish any one species from another, but I have to assume it’s not a human. Hopefully. They’re a little too small to be human bones, although, technically, I’ve never seen human bones before. I’m not really sure, and I’m not sure how they got here. Picked off by a predator long ago, succumb to the elements or sickness, tossed over by someone looking to easy dispose of a body. However they got here, it’s not long after that I decide that ideally, those should be the only bones down here. Probably time to head out.

I felt like Columbus or Cortes returning from the New World (minus the pillaging, looting, and introduction of smallpox to the native population). I was truly a Conquistador, embarked on a great adventure few could compare to. From curiosity, stupidity; from stupidity, amazement; from amazement, teamwork; from teamwork, adventure; and from adventure, glory. And when it comes down to it, isn’t that the thing you look for the most when dumpster diving through scraps you found off the road?

There’s a few lessons to be learned. First, don’t listen to me if I tell you to go down a mountain to look at some couch. You might slip, get torn up by thorns, and wind up embarrassing yourself. Two, going dumpster diving at the bottom of a mountain is actually a lot of fun. There’s a ton of cool stuff lying around if you know where to look. And three, sometimes you can have great adventures with random strangers. I don’t remember their names, and I spend probably a grand total of twenty minutes with these guys, but experiences like these are often some of the most fun parts of life. That’s probably not great advice; going through trash at the bottom of a mountain with strangers. But, as they say, strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet. And often enough, you might find treasure going through trash. Or, scary bones.