David Nebenzahl wrote:

I just love the ASS-umptions you're making here.

Though the source of this piece of clothing was a woman (who's a
friend of mine with whom I exchange lots of dumpster-dived
materials), the robe is an ordinary man's (or unisex) robe. No pink
frilly lace or anything.
So while you tried to make an ASS out of U and ME, you only succeeded
in the former, as your ASS-umption was wrong.

Oh, and thanks to HeyBub: I too prefer to think of this activity as
"gleaning", as opposed to dumpster diving (though I take no offense at
being referred to as such a diver).

Yep. Got to remain alert. The world needs more lerts.

My little truck just ran out of gas* and I'm sitting here trying to cool off
after walking back.

Anyway, during the hike home I spied a keyboard tray sticking out of a pawn
shop dumpster. I grabbed it. It will be perfect for mounting under my router
table to hold router bits.

--------
* The gas gauge doesn't work and I miss-estimated the mileage.

The first time this happened was two days after I bought the truck (used).
Here I am standing on the side of the road about to shed my skin in rage,
when a constable pulls up behind and inquires as to the problem. I tell him
and the following conversation ensues:

Constable: "I'll be glad to give you a courtesy lift to the gas station if
you want."
Me: "I'd really appreciate that."
Constable: "You'll have to ride in the back. The front seat is full of
books."
Me: "No problem."
Constable: "Before you get in the car, I have to ask: are you carrying any
weapons?"
Me: "Yes. I have a five-shot revolver in my back pocket."
Constable: (taking a step backward) "You're kidding!?"
Me: "No, not kidding. But, on second thought, I think I'll walk to the gas
station. Thanks anyway."
Constable: "Hold it! I mean... Wait up there..., er... ah, do you have a
permit?"
Me: "Sure."
Constable: "Let me see it."
Me (hands over Concealed Handgun Permit)
Constable: (carfully examining both sides and edges) "We don't see too many
of these"
Me: "Duh"

About this time another constable arrives and stays with my lady friend in
the truck while the original constable and I hie off to the gas station. As
we return, I thank the officer profusely and say: "You didn't ask, so I'll
volunteer the information. My girlfriend has a Colt automatic in her purse,
there's a Beretta in the glove box, and a short-barrel pump shotgun behind
the driver's seat. Thanks again for the lift."

I left the cop banging his head against the steering wheel.

It's fun to torment the police. I know. I used to be one.