Remember that we are the largest free online dating service, so you will never have to pay a dime to meet your soulmate.I doubt I would use that as a date idea but after seeing a recent articles about Wal-Mart, Target, etc tossing out thousands of dollars worth of merchandise (the point of the article being that they should be giving it to charity)... Some people say I can make a living off it from just of a small portion of what they have seen what I bring home.These enterprising individuals are known as Dumpster divers or freegans or anti-consumerists or whatever the name du jour happens to be, and we are supposed to feel both bourgeois-horrified and possibly impressed by their behavior.Would that Commuting to the Suburbs of Love Hashimoto, like some others with this extreme propensity for savings, is employed. Storey writes, however, that after Hashimoto was laid off in the dot-com crash she changed her lifestyle.I also found 2 paramedic suits with original patches on them tossed over the Remstar. Be happy to give some pointers on how to make this "Dumpster Diving Dating Experience go very well.Maybe then my idea wont seem to outlandishly unique.
Hopefully you will all have fun meeting singles and try out this online dating thing...Darren handles the armored truck like my grandfather drove his Caddy - fast enough to make a committed cyclist like myself flinch, but with a great deal of precision as he weaves in and out of late-night traffic on the icy streets.We're whipping through sprawling, one-story industrial plazas, slowing only to take a closer look at the dumpsters.Darren pulls into the driveway, past the circling minivans of parents waiting to pick up kids from swimming lessons at the strip mall, and pulls up around back, along a row of dumpsters. Thinks I'm here to Episode 87-5654." I peer cautiously over the dumpster's edge. Darren pushes them aside, looking for something with a higher dollar-to-dimensions ratio.He tugs a woolly toque over his long hair, zips up his army-surplus jacket, and puts on his heavy leather gloves. Darren's already headfirst in a dumpster, and a minivan is pulling up 20 yards from us, switching on its high beams. The paddy wagon's already half-full of spent laser toner cartridges and 386s, which occupy a lot of volume in a cargo space designed, after all, to transport humans in shackles, not the high tech detritus of Toronto's profligate industrial parks.
We're all bitheads, but we're not looking for unshredded hard copy - that's old news. Finally, we spy a likely-looking site, a strip mall where the lone restaurant is perpetually going out of business.