I know that someday you'll find better things.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Holding the Bag

A police cruiser pulled into the gas station.
There I was, in the middle of the parking lot, holding the bag.
My heart pounded at a criminal rate.
How far did the law extend? Were we safely out of the ban zone?
Holy moly smokes, was this a sting op? I couldn't believe it. I was totally going to be charged with possession.

We are such suckers, I thought. 
We'd walked right into it.

A long, long, long time ago, I'd heard something about someplace outlawing plastic bags. It was around the time that I'd heard about Santa Barbara placing a ban on the practice of fast food restaurants supplementing their kids' meals with toys, because someone--a bunch of someones, I suppose, since the law was passed-- thought it rewarded and reinforced poor eating habits.

The toy story took precedence in my brain. The plastic bag details were vague at best.

Well, the somewhere is Austin, we found out. These are the things you can only find out the hard way, like at 11pm at a skeezy Walmart where you purchased WAY more than the planned four-pack of lightbulbs. (Incandescent, and also soon to be contraband.)

Who doesn't buy lightbulbs while on a four-day trip? People who remember to pack them, I suppose.

If you're already at said Walmart, and you happen to notice that the Equate brand now has a line of generic Clinique products (Strikingly Unique, if you're interested) well, you simply must find out if they are comparable to the real mccoy. 

It's not indulgence, it's research.
Scores of dollars could be saved here, folks.

But if you're already there and you're already getting more than the lightbulbs, you should probably get something indulgent. We recommend Breyer's gelato, or as we call it, 'butter icecream'.

Better add some plastic spoons from the party supply aisle. (Hotel, remember?)

We emptied our loaded arms onto the conveyor belt and proceeded through the checkout line with the assistance of an unusual cashier. (Meth-head, Russ later predicted. Exhausted after a double shift. And weird, I countered.)

After ringing up our items and stacking them haphazardly on that peculiar proprietary Walmart checkout triangle, there was an interminable pause.

"Did you, uh, want a bag?" she rasped.

Well, the leaning tower of impulse buys made it somewhat obvious that we needed one. Did she have to ask?

She did!

Because it turns out that bags are illegal. Or giving away bags is illegal, as we were able to purchase a modest paper sack for the modest price of ten cents.

Please understand, I'm not opposed to phasing out plastic bags-- I just need a little warning. Or at least better communication at the register.

The paper bag was lovely, functional, and worth every cent.


***

On the return trip, we stopped for fuel at a gas station, used the restroom, and became distracted by snacks and beverages. Since I am trying to be more tolerant and less weird, I lied and told Russ I didn't care when he asked if I'd mind if he got Corn Nuts.

Have you ever smelled those things? Yuck. Thanks to this fleeting attempt at grace, I was now going to have to hold my breath and/or breathe through my mouth the whole rest of the way home.

For my part, I made courteous selections, like gummy worms, trail mix, and two humongous and awkward bottles of water.

We approached the counter to checkout and spilled our spoils sheepishly.

"Did you want a bag?" the clerk asked.

Oh, crud. I'd left the dang Walmart one in the car.

"Yes, please," we replied shamefully.

He casually loaded our haul into a PLASTIC bag and bid us farewell. 

We stepped out into the bright and sizzling parking lot just as the police arrived on the scene.

Consumed by panic about our imminent arrest, I forgot how to walk. I willed my legs to move, and that was all the encouragement they needed because by then, adrenaline had taken over.

"Hurry!" I hollered.
"Why?!" Russ shouted.

"BECAUSE WE HAVE A--
Mercifully, I remembered about self-incrimination.
"B - A - G," I spell-mouthed.

We got in the car and got the heck out of there.

My eyes were glued to the rearview mirror for the next five miles, but it appeared that no one was following us.

We had escaped, holding The Bag.

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