Three Bagging Stories

1) The other night, I was five minutes into a seven hour shift, when I realized I had forgotten my wallet at home. That meant no money for dinner -- or even a snack, for that matter.

Of course, as soon as I realized this, I began feeling really hungry (my hunger pains were sticking like duct tape). So I quickly ran through my options.

Jill was at work, so she wouldn't be able to bring me money and/or food. And, well, that was it for my options.

Except for tips. But tips for a bagger are grossly unreliable at best. If I'm lucky, I'll make a couple bucks a night. Now don't get me wrong, a couple bucks would've been enough to grab a little snack, but I had no way of knowing when such a tip would come, or even if I would get one at all.

So, as I was bagging some old lady's groceries, I said a prayer. I asked for a little extra tip money a little sooner than normal, so I could have something to eat during my break.

After I dropped off the lady's groceries, she gave a fifty cents.

I was relieved. That would be enough to at least buy a can of pop or something. At least I wasn't going to die of thirst.

The next trip out, I got a dollar -- which would mean a bottle of pop and an apple. The very next trip I got another dollar -- a bottle, an apple, and a granola bar. Then someone gave me a wad of three ones -- enough for a meal at the fine Market Place deli (shameless plug).

All told, I received more than fifteen dollars -- all before my first break. As a bagger, I haven't even come close to matching that amount of tip money before or since.

2) I have progressed in my bagging to the point where it is no longer a strictly utilitarian procedure. It has become an art.

Meat-in-plastic, group-the-produce, don't-crush-the-bread and a myriad other immutable bagging laws still apply and, indeed, are necessary to provide the conventions of the medium.

But when the choices made within those confines are driven by creativity rather than the taskmasters of speed and efficiency, that is when bagging becomes an art.

That is not to say, however, that speed and efficiency are to be ignored. In fact, the epitome of bag-art is when speed, efficiency, and creative decision making all converge to form the Perfect Bag.

(It should also be noted that I am an exceptionally slow bagger.)

3) When the soda machines in the entry area "start up" (for lack of a better term), it sounds like an air-raid siren. The first time I heard the noise, I took a glance outside for any unusual commotion (unmarked planes, an arching ICMB, Covenant dropships).

I now realize the source, and yet every time I walk past those machines when they're "starting up," I still get the uncontrollable urge to flip my cart over and dive under for cover.