Emily Borenstein is something of a dumpster diving expert. A member of a student cooperative in the Eugene area, she dives up to three times a week over the warmer months. Recently she’s been taking along green divers in an effort to show them the ropes, and one night last week she accompanied three housemates who’ve never had the pleasure of fishing through another man’s rubbish for buried treasure on a diving spree.
Dumpster diving varies in form and sought-out materials, but at in this most literal example of “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure,” an individual climbs through a dumpster in search of items that can be reused, recycled or consumed.
“Everyone’s excited to do it.” Borenstein explained as she prepared her equipment: a heavy-duty tan camping backpack with open drawstrings, a large silver Maglite and two simple red milk crates. Her primary motivations for diving are collecting food for her communal “family” and saving some of the tons of food that’s thrown away daily.
“The first time you go dumpster diving, you get so frustrated, because there’s just so much waste.”
Her transport of choice is a housemate’s beaten-up white sedan of some indeterminable make. Normally she travels by bike, but with the size of this group bikes might have been too conspicuous. Fuel light flickering, they sputtered to their first stop: a bakery on the outskirts of Eugene.
According to Emily, the small, independently owned stores rarely have a problem with community dumpster divers, frequently turning a blind eye and often helping to make dives obvious and easy. Big chains, however, are the opposite; the bigger they are, the more health risks they offer divers and the more open they leave themselves to being sued.
As they approach the darkened alley running behind the bakery, the headlights are dimmed and the divers spring into action. The four select the backpack from among their tools and begin pulling almost flawless loaves of expensive artisan bread out of a wide open dumpster and stuffing them into the bag. As the team of merry bandits worked, they chatted amicably, seemingly unaware to the amount of noise they were making on a quiet street. In no time at all, they’re back in the car and rolling toward next destination.
The second stop of the night is one of Eugene’s well-know local grocery store chains. The differences between the two dives are stark. Whereas the first target was a pair of isolated, shadowed, open dumpsters in an abandoned alleyway, this location is glaringly open, a massive beige behemoth set right up against the building and illuminated by a dozen lights. A door leading into the rear of the store is situated right next to the target, and the dumpster itself is closed by a steel lid so heavy it takes a crank to raise it.
The group is more subdued as they ponder their next move. One of the greenhorns, Lorenzo, doesn’t even want to get out of the car and advocates for inglorious but ultimately safe withdrawal. But after a brief discussion, Emily rallies her troops and approaches the dumpster. One diver manhandles the crank as Emily squeezes off the padlock and chain and painstakingly raises the dumpster lid, each ratchet from the crank ringing uncomfortably loud in the silent night. There is no banter now, as the previously genial atmosphere has been replaced by grim determination and a subtle undercurrent of fear.  Only Emily, the seasoned veteran, seems completely at ease, whispering instructions and advice to her housemates.
“We need to be quiet here,” she says as she climbs bodily into the dumpster. “The night stockers are just on the other side of that wall.”
Milk crates are passed up, filled with produce and returned to the waiting arms of the trainee divers. Additional crates are discovered next to the dumpster and drafted into service. All goes well until the sudden hum of a rapidly closing street sweeper shatters the tense calm of the mission. Everyone breaks for the car, falling over themselves to load the crates and escape unnoticed. In the rush the dumpster is forgotten, leaving Emily struggling to close and lock it herself. At least the deed is done, and the new divers have survived their baptism of fire unsullied.
As it turns out, Emily has only been caught once in three years of diving. It was late afternoon and she was taking another rookie on her first dive. Enthusiastic but inexperienced, the greenhorn made the mistake of leaving her bicycle in plain view as they explored the bin for fresh food and vegetables. Sure enough, they were promptly rumbled by a security guard.
“The guy saw us, and he came up and said, ‘You guys can’t do this.’” Emily says with a smile. “And I said, ‘Really, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.’ Then I left — with my produce.”
The University Department of Public Safety reports that dive rates rise every summer, when students begin to pack for home and vacate the dorms.
“Typically the increase comes at the end of the school year,” DPS Patrol Officer Chris Phillips says. “It’s a big issue for the officers.”
Student departures and rising dive rates correlate, Phillips explains. When freshmen pack up for home, often times large or bulky, but still functioning items get discarded. This lightens the load for parents and students alike and opens the door for increased dumpster pilfering.
“Typically, (divers are) looking for items they can recycle, items they can use. The people in the community know when the students leave,” Phillips says. “They know that these items are being thrown out at these times.”
Diving is technically illegal, but according to Eugene Police Department Communications Officer Jenna McCully, rarely enforced. “The act of dumpster diving itself is not a major police concern,” she says, explaining that the reason for its illegality is the nature of diving itself. Dumpsters are considered private property, and climbing into one in search of reusable items in a clear trespassing violation. However, tight resources and the high number of violations put dumpster diving near the bottom of the EPD’s priority list.
“Technically (diving) can be considered illegal, because it can be considered a theft. But that’s not something that typically happens.” Phillips says. “The only time that would typically happen is if they have an (outstanding) warrant.” Normally, DPS officers will take a less aggressive approach, he explains, much like Emily’s experience with the grocery security guard. “We’ll contact them, explain campus policies to them and advise them to leave.”
Upon returning from their midnight foray, Borenstein and her trainee divers empty the various crates of fruit and vegetables onto the community house’s kitchen table in preparation for separation and storage. A cascade of produce sits before them, providing a colorful and varied source of entirely free food: apples, oranges, cucumbers, bananas, avocados, green grapes, carrots, zucchinis, a single strawberry, a solitary radish, pineapple, bell peppers, cantaloupe, grapefruit, lemons, broccoli and an ear of corn. Wasting no time, Borenstein sets to sorting. Fruits go in one crate, vegetables go in another. Anything that isn’t salvageable is placed in large plastic bins for composting. The bread goes into a large cupboard, the sorted crates of food and veg go to a massive refrigerator unit.
“I do this to see the quality and throw out what’s rotten,” Borenstein says as she eyes a green pepper that has seen better days. A crowd of housemates slowly gathers, people offering congratulations and praise while helping themselves to some of the more basic fruits. As the night winds down, people begin offering suggestions for the food’s usage and another expedition is already being planned for next week.
Most people aren’t against the idea of dumpster diving, Emily believes, they just want to follow company protocol or avoid putting themselves in potentially hazardous legal positions. Others, however, aren’t so forgiving. But people’s perceptions don’t bother Emily at all.
“It kinda has a negative connotation, like, ‘You’re eating trash.’ But it’s not trash … There’s just so much waste in this world. We have a right to eat, we have a right to live.”