This is why I avoid potlucks: who knows how the food was prepared or, where the food came from.
Like a dumpster.
Someone wrote a lifestyle type at Toronto’s Globe and Mail to say her “brother-in-law is a dumpster diver, only for the thrill of it and not because he needs to. … Things gave cause for concern when his family’s contribution to Christmas dinner was food from a dumpster. Still sealed, mind you, but publicly announced as a terrific find.”
Part of the response: “While there’s no doubt your brother-in-law put some effort into his contribution (effort which may have included being covered in coffee grounds and banana peels, 
and throwing stinking, steaming, soiled diapers over his shoulder), it’s the ultimate re-gift.
“I would also question whether he’s exposing anyone to health risks with his tossed-out offering. Maggots squirm and writhe around in our waste containers. Sealed or not, it could be spoiled, contaminated, or otherwise compromised. Some things are tossed out for a reason.
“You’re certainly within your rights to politely refuse when someone passes you the dumpster doughnuts.”
high attack rate. Our future advice to the race organizers is to inspect the route prior to the race to ensure it is not littered with animal feces, and not end the race at the horse ring. If there is any horse poop, they have to remove it."
Parents of other students at the party need to make sure they and their children wash their hands thoroughly.”
specially grown for them, in something reminiscent of a medieval oligarchy.