The Deep Mistrust of Scavengers in On Dumpster Diving, an Article by Lars Eighner

There are particular stigmas linked with one’s occupation – usually instances undeservingly so. In “On Dumpster Diving”, Lars Eighner explores a niche that numerous contemplate shameful or even taboo. Even so, Eighner’s vocation goes beyond the elicited acrimony. Deep inside societal norms, ingrained into our extremely bones, exists a tenacious aversion and a deep mistrust of scavengers. From this resentment spurs the reader’s conjectures about Eighner, particularly about his intellectual capabilities. Ultimately, the reader’s unfair generalization of dumpster divers wrongfully undermines the unspoken pact of credibility amongst reader and writer. From the incited disgust towards dumpster divers, Lars Eighner acknowledges the need to have to establish his credibility. As a result, in his testimony of dumpster diving, Eighner heavily utilizes the rhetorical appeal of ethos in an work to establish himself as a credible source and refute the reputation of him and his peers.

In glaring grey font[1], the conspicuous title “On Dumpster Diving” starts the essay with an appeal Darwin’s The Voyage of the Beagle – the precursor to On the Origin of Species. But the allusion goes further than just the homologous titles, rather Eighner structured his essay to mimic Darwin’s methodology of hypothetical-speculation. Like Darwin, Eighner primarily based numerous of his conclusions on observations rather than conventional induction based experiments. By means of the indirect interrogation of locational evaluation and careful timing, Eighner surmises his private experiences into a single set of suggestions governing dumpster diving. In the end, this emulation of inquiry employs the rhetorical method of ethos – namely the appeal to authority, in this case, Darwin – which in turn earns the author significantly necessary credibility.

Like Darwin, Eighner introduces the reader to the location he frequents as exemplary locational analysis. He addresses this within the 1st two sentences: straight stating “I’m not here by chance”, but rather simply because the region is “inhabited by numerous affluent college students” who are prodigally generous in what they throw away (89). Evidently, his methodical tactic of scavenging in that location has been lucrative where the “typical discard is a half a jar of peanut butter” (89). And to further prove the returns on his investment, Eighner meticulously tabulates his findings boasting of intermittently nonetheless-hot pizzas, yogurts and cheeses, canned goods and staples, alcoholic beverages, and even non-tangible items such as drugs or pornography. Thus, the assumption the audience makes is that the author’s excursions have been exceedingly profitable relative to other dumpster divers, and Eighner partially attributes his success to his locational evaluation. Like Darwin taking credit for navigating the H.M.S. Beagle to Galápagos Archipelago, Eighner similarly requires credit for strategically deciding on the place of his pursuit.

Beyond Eighner’s geographical certainty of his profit area, considerably of his success derives from paying cautious consideration to the integral academic calendar. With an allusion to the strategic timing of Darwin’s journey, the author similarly earnings from deducing that student will “throw away meals around the breaks” if there exists uncertainty in perishability[2] (89). Hence arises Eighner’s cornucopiate[3] of yogurts, cheeses, and sour cream, along with the ubiquitous jars of peanut butter. Beyond his cocktail various dairy merchandise, “at the finish of semesters and when [students] give up college at midterms”, Eighner’s collects on his biannual bonus of canned foods and staples (89). From Eigner’s deposition in his essay, rather than just attributing his dumpster diving successes to solely favorable timing, he couples his investigation of the science with Darwin’s observations with the Galapagos finches. Even though what Darwin observed could seem irrelevant to the seasonal purge of cabinets and refrigerators, much of his observations of Galapagos finches were dependent upon seasonal modifications. Darwin planned for his expedition to arrive at the Galapagos in drought-like conditions, especially, for the duration of the waning portion of the dry-season. Thus, when he began his documentation of the mating behavior of Galapagos finches, due to the heavy constraint in sources, only a pick group of the fittest could afford to forgo foraging to mate. He arrived at the excellent time to observe all-natural choice. Because of their similarities in effective timing, Eighner equates his dumpster diving with Darwin’s observations in the Galapagos – accrediting himself by an appeal to authority.

However, Eighner’s rhetorical strategy of ethos goes beyond the mere emulation of Darwin’s scientific believed, but his scientific nomenclature as properly. By deliberately calling himself a ‘scavenger’, he alludes to the stone age, predominantly the late Paleolithic and early Neolithic eras, when Homo erectus and Neanderthals evolved into Homo sapiens. To additional flaunts his incessant require for precision in his diction, Eighner goes as far as cite the dictionary and grammar rules. Evident from his two-sentenced introduction to dumpster diving, he cites the “Merriam-Webster research service” for his expository on the origin of the word dumpster – “a proprietary word belonging to the Dempsey Dumpster company” (87). Cogitating the search outcome, he declares that he “dutifully capitalized the word” like suitable nouns should be – correcting Merriam-Webster’s lack of accuracy – and complacently flaunts his grammatical correctness (87). Continuing on his crusade of vocabular justice, he points out many inaccuracies of diction: “‘Dumpster Diving’ seems […] a small too cute […] and inaccurate”, and the word ‘foraging’ is reserved “for gathering nuts and berries” (87). And by becoming so deliberate in his terminology, Eighner places himself in a position of academic superiority, diverging from the rest of the globe that fails to capitalize dumpster, that evades the “frankness of the word ‘scavenging’,” convincing the audience of his academic credibility (87).

Beyond the cocktail of scavenging adventures and addressing vocabular inaccuracies, Eighner surprises the reader with a tiny bit of chemistry. As Eighner so eloquently put, candy, “especially tough candy, is generally safe” (89). Underlying this piece of suggestions is the covert reference to osmotic prospective, that bacteria and pathogens alike cannot survive in “very sugary substances” (89). Addressing the possibility of food poisoning, Eighner even provides perspective on the neurotoxin Botulism, a fatal and asymptomatic toxin that happen as a byproduct of modern day canning approaches. Straightforward prevention care techniques include heat, which “can break down the botulin” into harmless denatured versions of the toxin (88). From the agglomerate of these bits and pieces of scientific wisdom, Eighner convinces us of his intellectual prowess and thus his credibility.

All through his essay, Eighner has established himself to be more than the intellectually incapable, detestable dumpster diver people suppose him to be, but instead savvy and rigorously methodical. Even though some may possibly regardlessly take into account his honorable niche shameful or taboo, his approach to dumpster diving was very commensurable with Darwin’s scientific hypothetical-interrogation. Alternatively, his guidelines could serve as a measure of the stigmas he has overcome. Ultimately, Eighner’s unconventional point of view to life probes the query not of variations but of how impetuously and unjustly we rely on convention and conjectural speculation.