The Dumpster Fight

The Dumpster Fight 

by: Bill Smith





We had moved into our new home just two weeks earlier, and it was the first chance we’d had to get back to our evening walking routine.



Coming home, we took a shortcut through the park because it was getting late.  We saw the concert shell earlier, but now there were people milling around. What caught our attention, was the really large dumpster right in front of the stage. Some people were taking their seats, and others were still walking towards the shell.  Bobby asked a guy walking a few feet from him, “what’s going on”?  The guy was twenty or so, and had a greasy looking brown pony tail. 



He looked at Bobby, and answered “It’s a dumpster fight, fagot”. Bobby quietly said “I’m not a fagot, a fagot is a bundle of sticks…..”. and before he could finish the reply he had always used whenever anyone called him a fagot. The kid said “well, you look like a fagot to me. Then talking to his friends, he said “I think we found a bundle of fucking sticks to throw in the dumpster tonight”. That was followed by laughter and shouts of  “Throw the fagot in the dumpster Toby”.  Before I knew it, the kid had grabbed Bobby by the arm and was pulling him towards the Dumpster. Several of those with him blocked my path for a moment, then I saw the kid and two others lift Bobby over the edge of the dumpster, drop him inside and then the first kid climbed in.



I had climbed up on the side of the dumpster and was trying to get inside, but several people were trying to pull me off, shouting “No..No.. None of that, only two allowed in the dumpster at a time.  It was only because I had gotten most of my weight over the edge, that I was able to kick at their faces and fall inside.



Bobby was screaming for me. And by the time I got to my feet, the kid had punched him in the face and started a nosebleed. Bobby had his hands in front of his face, and was lowering himself into the back corner of the dumpster and screaming “Billy… Help Me Billy.”

By this time, the kid was bending over Bobby and pounding him viciously in the head and back with his fists.  I grabbed him around his shoulders with both arms, and with the help of my weight advantage, bashed his head against the side of the dumpster.  That got his attention, but didn’t seem to hurt him at all. I bashed his head against the side twice more, then he broke loose from my hold. My hand slid down to his wrist and grabbing that, I tried to use my other hand against his elbow, but he was too strong, and kept trying to pull me to him and punching at me with his free arm while I kept trying to keep the other one straight.  I was quickly beginning to tire, and my next desperate thought was to kick him in the balls. I kicked him four times, in rapid succession and didn’t realize he had passed out, until he slid to the floor. 



I was terrified that he would come to any second, and kill me.  I turned to Bobby and boosted him out of the dumpster.  While he was going over the top, the kid awoke and tried to get up, It was then that I saw the unopened knife he had in the hand he had been punching at me with, that he had not been able to open because of my having control of his other hand. I grabbed his wrist again, and with my other hand, pushed against his elbow.  It was all I could do to hold on, and then I heard him scream as his forearm bent backwards at the elbow.



I looked for a way to climb out when I saw the guy on the stage shouting to the crowd:  “...eight....nine....ten.  OK folks, it looks like it's Fagots one, Toby none”. The crowd erupted with a mix of cheers and boos, as someone  lowered a ladder into the Dumpster.  Climbing out, I saw several teens kicking apart their seats and throwing them in the dumpster. I heard one of them shouting; “have a seat Toby”.



We walked across the lawn and were home in a few minutes, and as I unlocked the back door, I saw the Realtor’s For Sale sign propped against the house. I told Bobby to go inside, and I took the sign out front and pushed it back into the lawn. When I went inside he was waiting for me. He said he loved me, and I said that I loved him, just as we each had done several times every day for  twenty-seven years. We both teared up a little, hugged and held each other close for a moment then I put ice on his swollen face.



The next day, I drove past the park on the way to the Realtors office, and saw a wrecking crew dismantling the concert shell and filling the Dumpster with it. Then I saw the sign near the street, telling about the new larger concert facility to be built on the site.



I wondered what kind of entertainment the future would hold for it, and and how long it would take to sell the house, and whether we  would make a profit or lose money on it, and where we would go from here.