In eight years and ten months at The BungaLowell, I had a perfect record of never needing a “Purple Overflow Trash Bag.” Yes, that is how it’s referred to on the city website. Usually, my tall kitchen can size trash bag is less than full, sometimes only half full. Today, because moving generates a lot more trash with the tossing of no longer needed items in addition to the regular trash, I needed a purple overflow bag. I did not realize this for sure until nearly 7 pm, but luckily, Market Basket, the local purveyor of the Lowell official city purple overflow trash bags is open until 8 on Sundays. Off I went.
Leading up to the realization of the trash excess, I had suspected it might be the case, and then, through a combination of forgetting and neglecting, failed to buy any of the purple magical bags to spirit away what doesn’t fit into the bin. The package of bags, quantity not specified on the label, was $10, which almost had me reconsidering my dedication to leaving the bins empty for my buyers. Almost. I bought the bags. I ended up using one.
Before visiting the customer service counter for the valuable purple overflow garbage bags, I visited the paper serving ware aisle. In the thoroughness of packing the kitchen, which began at 5:30 this morning, I neglected to leave out a coffee mug for my coffee substitute beverage of choice, instant chai latte. Duh.
The partyware aisle had packages of 80 cups, 40 cups, 30 cups, all more than I need. I decided to go to Family Dollar and buy a reusable coffee mug, even though I know from having just packed them, that I own about 10,000 frigging coffee mugs. But a reusable mug could accommodate any liquid and go into the microwave while also meeting the desire to not generate more trash.
Family Dollar was painful. There was a kid chattering away in full blown outdoor voice, a couple aisles away. She started yelling/singing about getting a backpack. As I looked at greeting cards, said child came into the same aisle I was in, which also holds craft and school supplies. Holding two backpacks, the youngling started filing one of them with items. Giant bottles of Elmer’s Glue, packs of colored markers which were gushed over with admiration, crayons, a jar of something pink, whatever. All were stuffed into the backpack I chose a couple cards and went to the coffee cups, the source of my mission.
As I proceeded towards the register, there was screaming. Apparently, the adult in charge of the backpack child had other ideas about the purchase, and the kid was wailing “I want a backpack!” and “I don’t want to leave” and other protests. The kid had quite a set of lungs. The cashier looked unfazed. The customer ahead of me seemed unbothered. I probably looked calm, but I was dying to see how the drama would unfold.
The adult didn’t blink, and continued paying for the sanctioned items. There was no negotiating, just a “no.” Then the rest of the party, adult woman in a nice dress, teenage girl in a red dress, and young boy in long pants and a shirt headed for the door. The wailing girl child wouldn’t budge from the checkout, and when she finally did, she bolted towards the door, slapping backpack set on a chair at the checkout displays on the way, then slapped the door with both hands a couple times, entered the vestibule, turned around and reentered the store, and headed back towards the main backpack display that sparked her desire. The rest of her party began walking across the parking lot. The still sobbing and wailing kid finally left the store under her own power.
When I went outside, the kid was sitting in the spot where the access road into the parking lot forms a T with the road running along the storefronts. There was crying and the stamping of feet and hands on the ground. Live kids theater (of this caliber) in the parking lot a Family Dollar was a first for me. The adult stood by calmly, looking at her phone. The teenager and young boy were already at the edge of the plaza, turning onto the sidewalk.
I don’t think I would ever have done that as a child, but mostly because sitting on the ground was gross and I would have been afraid of messing up my perfect little coordinated shorts and top outfit. This girl was not concerned about messing her very cute and sassy shorts and top outfit, she was committed to the drama and definitely choosing not happy.
If there hadn’t been 10,000 things needing doing at the house I might have sat in my car watching for the resolution to the histrionics. Instead, I avoided running over the child sitting on the pavement by turning away and looping through the nearly empty parking area. Then it was vacuuming and dusting baseboards, kind of a warmup for doing the same thing in a different house next weekend.
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