Day Old Bread (part 3)

The following morning, bright and early, Jennifer and I dressed for our dumpster diving excursion. One might think that we would wear the oldest, dirtiest clothes we owned, but no, we decided we should dress in our nicest clothing that way we wouldn't look like we were dumpster diving. We had a reason to be behind that store near the dumpster in nice clothes.

We were teenagers and we were all about outward appearances, but especially during this time in our lives. The second we knew we ate out of a dumpster, things clearly changed for us. We weren't a normal family. We didn't sit down together for meals because the meals weren't regular. While one day we might have an abundance of food, the next there could be nothing.

Everything in Treasure Island is on the water and this Winn Dixie was no different. Behind the store there was a 20 foot strip of paved road and then there was the sea wall of the Boca Ciega Bay. We scoped out the store and it was empty except for what we assumed were the few employees cars that were there getting the store ready for opening. We sat out on the sea wall behind the store just waiting to get our baked goodies. We scoped out the dumpster and the proximity to the store. We noticed that the dumpster blocked the road, so there was only one way out, the way we came.

"I bet we find those little powdered donuts!" I declared with giddy enthusiasm. "Maybe we'll even find chocolate ones?!"

"Don't be stupid, Michelle," Jennifer said with a knowing confidence like she had really thought this thing through. "Think about it, it's day old because no one bought this crap. So more than likely we will get loaves of french bread or more danish that no one wants."

I stared out at the water and watched fishing boats go by. The blaring horn of the causeway bridge sounded alerting drivers to the bridge opening. Those bridges always scared me. I always had a fear when walking across that they would open without the operator knowing I was on it and I would slide down into the water only to be eaten by ravenous blood thirsty sharks.

I noticed Jennifer was also staring out at the water.

"Just imagine, I bet one day we could live in one of those houses again," she said as she pointed with her head across the water.

I glanced quickly, but didn't let my eyes linger too long. It seemed to be something that was so far removed from what our life had become. At one point we did live in a house like those. We lived in a home where people drove by and slowed down to stare. I truly believe that is what made eating dumpster food so much more painful. We knew what it was like to be rich in wealth. If we had always been poor it would have been a way of life rather than this cruel anomaly.

A blast of a car horn shocked us both out of our daydreaming and memories. We both jerked our heads around right as a big conversion van pulled behind the Winn Dixie. Written on the side were the words, 'Sunny Day Resting Home'.

Jennifer was the leader of our two person team and she quickly said, "Keep looking at the water like we are watching fish."

There we sat, she in her best shorts and sandals, me in a nice spaghetti strap sundress. We were clearly sticking out like sore thumbs at the back of the store in the early morning hours.

The doors of the van opened and out filed 8 elderly people. Some had binoculars hanging around their necks, others had white zinc oxide smeared on their noses. We saw a lot of matching two piece outfits and sandals with socks on. I could feel all sixteen eyes on us, questioning us, almost challenging us to our right to be back there with them.

While Jennifer was the one with the street smarts and dare I say it, but a conman attitude, I was the one with the book smarts, the one who could figure out various scenarios.

"They are here to get the day old bread so they can feed the seagulls," I said to Jennifer.

"Well, we're here to feed some seagulls too, but these seagulls have the last name of Rose and real people lips," she replied. "we're not leaving here without something out of that dumpster."

The doors of the Winn Dixie slammed open and out came a young man in his 20's with a small gray dumpster on wheels, one of the wheels vibrated as he pushed it and the squeaking noise bothered me. He stopped and kicked the wheel with his foot fixing it straight. The group of elderly people cheered and crowded around the dumpster as the young man wheeled it to the larger outside dumpster.

"All right, get ready to run," Jennifer alerted me, "I'm going for it."

I never doubted her ability to be a fast runner, we were both ranked high in the nation for cross country at one point and it paid off at times like this. Jennifer leapt to her feet and with such great focus and no fear at all she ran straight for the little gray dumpster, she reached in with two hands as the elderly people jumped out of her way.

"Run, run!"

Jennifer was running at me so fast and I looked back as I started running as well. I stuck my hand out behind me as she slapped a loaf of french bread into it. This was seriously where our running days paid off. That loaf of bread was a baton and we were in a relay race to get our little asses back across the street to the safety of our cottage.

Once across Gulf Boulevard, we darted to the picnic table behind our seriously humble abode. We were both out of breath, yet also excited with fear and accomplishment. Jennifer had landed us two loaves of french bread.

She opened one bag and yanked off a hunk for me and a hunk for herself. We both chewed quietly and slowly hoping to enjoy each little savory bite. I started to suggest how it would be great if we had butter to go on it, but decided against ruining that moment; that wonderful glorious moment.

We brought the bread into our mom who was scrubbing the floor of the cottage. That seemed to become her escape, cleaning. Every square inch of that cottage was scrubbed every single day. At times she would be so focused on scrubbing the bathtub that we siblings could have a civil war erupting in the main room and she was oblivious to it.

But when we walked in with that bread I could see the relief on her face. That night she fixed french toast which we ate with watered down syrup. Best french toast ever!

We never went back to the dumpster, but Jennifer and I did discover that we could in to the store at lunch time and get some samples from the deli. We did that everyday for a week until finally the store manager approached us. Jennifer never shied away from authority figures and the store manager was no different.

"I guess we will have to tell our parents how rude you were to us so they won't ever give you our business again," Jennifer stated so matter of factly. "Come on, Michelle, we don't need to be treated this way!"

We marched out of that store with our heads held high. That is one thing our parents taught us. They always said we could be dirt poor and they still wanted us to act with class, so much so that we could walk into the White House and fit in.

So we walked out of that Winn Dixie and never went back in again.

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The next chapter is about how we got to that point in our lives. It is titled......An Apple a Day Doesn't Keep the Sheriff Away. :)